Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s dark, in the jungle.

Sam - likes it, honestly. The deep green light filtering down even at midday soothes something uniquely creeper in him, settles his instincts in a way that nothing else can. And - in among the lush, rustling leaves, there’s a feeling of safety that lingers, even if he knows it’s an illusion.

He’s being hunted. He knows it. Dream won’t have stopped at the borderwilds - he’s spent years ranging the lands between servers, as hunter and hunted, and he knows these regions better than Sam could ever hope to -

But Sam isn’t dead yet. Isn’t dead yet, and he’s not managed to set his spawn out here, but neither has Dream. If he can land a kill before Dream can -

If he can kill Dream before Dream kills him, Dream will be a thousand chunks away, spawning on his own server, and Sam will be home free.

If Dream kills him -

Well, he’s lost two lives, already. If Dream kills him, nothing else will matter.

Above him, thunder rumbles, and he laughs, because -

Because even Dream isn’t stupid enough to chase a creeper through the jungle in a storm. It’s a chance - a little bought time, an opportunity to build chunks between him and his pursuer, and he hauls himself to his feet, and wraps his fingers around the shaft of his trident, and moves.

And the sky breaks open, heavy droplets pouring from the sky and pattering against the canopy overhead as he makes his way between the swaying trees, and it’s - good, honestly.

The world around him darkens as the stormclouds roll overhead, and Sam lets himself smile, because there’s wind tracing across his leaves, and even in the jungle it’s cooler than the Prison ever was, and -

- and even hunted, he’s freer than he’s been in a long, long time.

-----

“Doc?”

Doc looks like hell, is what Mumbo thinks, catching sight of him through the trees. He’s yellowed, for one thing, leaves curled and wilted-looking, drooping almost flush to his body. His lab coat is - missing. Only the flash of his trident and the chestplate - gold, not Doc's usual diamond or netherite - keep him from mistaking the hybrid for an actual creeper.

He’s on a death run, obviously, so Mumbo folds in his elytra and drops down between the trees to offer a hand.

It’s not Doc he almost lands on, that’s for dang sure - even if the gas mask confuses him, for a moment, the flash of metal on their face so familiar that for a second he’s not sure what’s going on.

He barely manages to skirt sideways in time, burning the last of his altitude to avoid getting skewered by the creeper hybrid’s trident. They flick their fingers, and the blue weapon reappears in their hand, lining up for another throw, and Mumbo panics, a little, throwing himself backwards and around a bush to avoid getting impaled -

“Wait -” he yells, ineffectively. “Wait wait wait wait -”

They don’t seem to care what he has to say. He recognizes the hiss that Not-Doc makes, a bone-deep threat that his whole body knows on an instinctive level -

But there’s no explosion, because the guy isn't actually a creeper. Mumbo drops down behind a tree, and it’s a mistake, because there’s no blast to duck - instead, there’s a hollow, ragged laugh, and then -

And then Mumbo dies, because the rain is still dripping from the leaves, and the withered-looking hybrid takes half a step and leaps, and suddenly, the threat is behind him, with a clear shot, and the trident goes straight through him and pins his dying body to the tree with a sickening crack.

-----

Sam laughs, again, because he has to.

He laughs because, as the player’s body crumples to the ground and fades, they leave behind a pile of stuff. And - and there’s food, and armor, and - shit.

He shoves a golden carrot into his mouth, hardly chewing, and it’s been so fucking long since he ate something that wasn’t melon or raw meat -

There’s cooked beef in the pile of gear. He tears into it with his teeth, not caring that he’s getting the juice on his hands and his face, because he hasn’t risked a fire since leaving the SMP.

He -

He looks like a maniac, probably. He doesn’t care.

He straps on the player’s armor - the guy was leggy, which works for him, the pieces too narrow but long enough that he doesn’t have to cut fresh straps - and tosses the rest of his stuff - the tools, the shears, the bedroll - in his own pack. It’s heavier, but fueled by cooked food he doesn’t give a damn -

But the player will. The player - if he’s respawned nearby, he’s going to be back for his shit, and -

And there’s always the risk that the guy has friends.

Sam doesn’t think he’s strayed into another server. He’s - pretty sure that he’s still in the wilds - but there’s always the risk he’s close to another controlled territory. Somewhere the anchor-magic of an alien admin is letting people set spawns - somewhere where the guy may actually be able to reach his death spot and come back.

If there’s a server, that means reinforcements. Especially against an outsider -

He gets moving. Tosses himself upward, into the canopy, where he can move undetected, and where he’ll be able to see anyone approaching him before they can see him - drop down into the trees and hide, or race away through the dark on the mobless tree-tops.

And -

And something in his chest goes freezing cold, because - oh. He’s made - good distance, in the last day. Gotten further than he thought -

Because out ahead of him, at the fading edge of the forest, there’s a city. A huge, looming castle, as large maybe as the prison, rising over a dozen houses -

And to his left, there’s a tree, preternaturally vast - tall enough to tower over the jungle, over the town - tall enough that the canopy is ringed in clouds. To his right - an ocean. He turns, and behind him, there’s a huge, spiraling glass tower, lit from within and shining like a rainbow, and he’s - he’s not on the edge of a server, he realizes, and fear claws at his chest.

He’s in the middle of a server. He’s wandered -

Like a fucking idiot, he’s wandered right into the middle of a server, and killed one of it’s players, and he’s going to die here.

Sam laughs, again, because he can’t do anything else.

-----

“Doc,” Mumbo begins without preamble, and Doc doesn’t quite manage to choke down the scream.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” he yelps, shoving the lanky, grinning man off of his chest a little harder and more panickedly than he maybe needs to, but he was asleep and his hearts are pounding like jackhammers in his chest -

Mumbo takes the shove - well, it’s definitely not gracefully, but he doesn’t seem put off at landing in a tangle on the floor of Doc’s bedroom, either. Or at the trident aimed at his throat - though Doc only holds it there for a second before letting it drop back into the nothing of inventory.

“Did you know there’s another creeper hybrid on the server?” Mumbo asks him, with a grin, dragging himself back upright.

“What?” Doc forces himself to his feet, because - what? “Since when?”

“I don’t know, an hour or two ago?” Mumbo offers with a shrug. “Bit of a brusque guy - he killed me. Are tridents a creeper thing? I didn’t realize they were a creeper thing -”

“They attract lightning, yeah,” Doc tells him almost offhandedly, processing, and then: “Wait - he killed you?”

“Pinned me to a tree by my guts, yeah,” Mumbo waves a hand dismissively. “Probably stole all of my stuff too - he was really yellowed. When you get browned bits around the edges of your leaves - that’s not good, right?”

“Too hot,” Doc confirms. “Or overwatered, but - you told Xisuma, right?”

“No.” Mumbo cocks his head. “You think we should?”

“There’s a strange player killing people on his server,” Doc grinds out, and - “Yes. I think he’ll want to know.”

“Yeah,” Mumbo considers that, for a moment. “You’re - probably right. One sec -”

There’s a moment of silence, as he keys in the message, and then -

“Do we have to do this in my bedroom?” Doc grinds out a little plantively as Xisuma appears with a sharp crack.

“Doc?” Xisuma looks - a little frazzled, honestly, eyes blearly behind the tinted lenses of his mask. “Mumbo said there was a creeper emergency? Urgent?”

“Oh for -” Doc shoots the other player a glare, stepping forwards to steady his clearly just-woke admin, and shoving him back onto the bed. “Not me -”

“What?” Xisuma - blinks, and then shakes his head as if to clear it before looking up at Mumbo. “Did something blow up over at the redstone base?”

“No, no -” Mumbo starts, and Doc cuts him off ruthlessly before he can confuse things any further.

“There’s another creeper hybrid on the server,” he clarifies. “Have you added any new players lately, or do we have a tresspasser?”

“Another -” That, at least, seems to cut through some of the fog. Xisuma blinks, and then straightens, fingers flicking up his console. “Oh - one sec -”

A pause as he fiddles with the glowing magic, and then -

“Yeah, we’ve got - someone fresh. Maybe more than one - oh -” A map flickers to life in the air between them, familiar and illuminated, and one edge faintly red. “Oh. Yeah, we’ve got border irregularities all along the north edge of the server. The storm, probably - I’m getting a lot of weird EM interference -”

He taps something else out, and then - “Give me a minute, I’ll refresh it -”

There’s a - shudder, in the world. An awkward twist of the magic all around them, and then -

“There.” The screens flicker into nothing as Xisuma glances up at them. “I’ll have to add our new player to the console manually, but it shouldn’t take long. Is he at your house, Mumbo, or…?”

“Oh, he’s still in the jungle, I think,” Mumbo replies breezily. “I don’t know where he went after he killed me.”

And Doc -

Doc snorts a deserved laugh at the way Xisuma stiffens, eyes going wide behind his mask as Mumbo’s words register - at the white-knuckled way his hand curls into a fist.

“What?” Xisuma asks, voice dangerously, impassively flat, and if he hadn’t been woken up just after midnight, Doc might bother to feel bad for the other creeper.

-----

Sam didn’t feel the server border, crossing it the first time, but he feels it shift as the Admin refreshes it. He can - hell, he can see it, a glowing, blue-light wall raised to keep him out of the controlled territory.

Trapping him in, now. He’s - there’s no way he’s getting across it, not tonight.

That doesn’t stop him from trekking closer, though. It’s dark enough that he can move unhinderered through the canopy, his trident more than enough to ward off the occasional circling phantom, the leaves hiding him from observers on the ground below. At least, he hopes they’re enough to hide him - he’s exhausted, exhausted enough that phantoms are circling in the first place, and -

And if he’s in a new server - he might have new lives.

He’s not an admin, is the trouble. He doesn’t have that kind of magic - so he’s got know way of knowing what’s going on with his lives here. If the Admin is pouring their magic to their players freely, or will have cut him off, or if Dream’s magic, faded with his two previous deaths, is what’s left to fail to call him back a third time -

It doesn’t matter, really. It doesn’t change what he should do. Set spawn, get some sleep while dark and the forest are still hiding him, hope that the rain keeps his pursuers at bay long enough for him to get ground in the morning and run. If he lives -

If he lives, nothing changes. If he dies - if he dies, and respawns, he’ll be far enough away to hide again, to keep away from his bed and keep running and respawning until either the Admin gets tired of chasing him and stops allowing him to respawn entirely, or he finds some crack in the shield that lets him escape back to the borderwilds.

He stops short of the shield by maybe twenty chunks. And -

And he has the bedroll. And he’s tired. HIs limbs are heavy - he’s been running a long time.

He hasn’t slept in longer.

And -

He drops to the forest floor below with a thump. The ground underfoot is squishy with wet, and soft with moss, and it’s - nice.

He shoves himself under a low bush - an unremarkable low bush - and drags out the bedroll. It soaks through almost immediately, but the wet feels good against his leaves, and he’s been parched since the prison, honestly -

And he can feel his spawn settling in around him. And - and he’s safe. Safe in a way he hasn’t been since -

In a long time, because if Dream finds him - one way or another, he’s never going back to the SMP. Dream can’t make him - even if his bedroll gets destroyed, he can feel the server’s magic sinking in, stitching him to new soil and a new Admin.

That’s -

It shouldn’t be as comforting as it is. Dream’s SMP is is home, but -

But maybe it hasn’t been in a long, long time.

He’ll - survive, here. He’ll slip outside the borders when he finds a chance, and disappear, and -

And that’s the thought that drags him down into sleep.

Above him, there’s no sound but the drip of water through leaves.

-----

Chapter Text

The jungle is cooler than usual, with the rain damping down the heat, but it’s desperately, cloyingly muggy. The moisture is hanging in the air - a thin but rippling pale mist, golden against the green with the morning light trickling between the leaves - by the time Sam wakes up, dragging himself out of the dip made by his weight in the wet soil.

Sam eats his breakfast on a bed of saturated moss, leaning against a vine and lichen coated treetrunk. The steak is just as good as it was the night before, and he tears two of them apart before the edge is off his hunger. Then - there’s nothing to do but consider the items he’s taken from his fallen enemy in more detail, absent the panicked rush of the night before.

It’s a wealth of opportunities, honestly. Armor, yes, that’s the most obvious thing - not as much as he’d hoped for, but it’s solid gear, everything but a chestplate, and his own gold is still in good enough condition to take a few solid hits. The tools are more interesting - pick, axe, shovel, and a back-up iron pick that he buries next to the sodden bedrolll on the off-chance that he takes a mortal hit and does manage a respawn -

There’s other stuff, too. A thin, gossamer-bright pair of - he’s not sure, exactly, except that he’s pretty sure the man had been wearing them when he’d leapt down on him. A stack of rockets - light, though, too light to have a fighting charge to them, and he’s not risking the noise and attention of firing one off to see what’s loaded in it.

A small sack of bonemeal. A mix of half-stacks of a dozen different blocks - he takes a moment and calls just enough flickering magic to craft a crafting bench, and a chest, and tosses them inside before burying both in leaves and shrubbery. And -

And that’s it. There’s nothing else too useful - the axe doesn’t look like half as good a weapon as his trident, but he stashes it under the bedroll, just in case, and then -

And then there’s nothing to do but get moving. He rises - surveys the area, kicks a few more leaves and some branches across the depression where he sat, and - turns back to the jungle.

And - it’s easy, is the thing. He lets his weight drop low, and the leaves fold over him, and he’s gone, vanished, swift and silent, into the forest overgrowth.

Above him, the only sounds are the whistles of parrots and the gentle shifting of leaves.

-----

“We are never going to find him,” Mumbo says, surveying the jungle’s edge. “Throwing that out there. He’s bright green, and covered in leaves.”

“You saw him the first time,” Xisuma points out. “And I thought he was more yellowish, anyways -”

“Neither of you are going to find him,” Doc says with a snort. “You’re going to stagger around the woods, and hopefully you make so much noise that he forgets to keep an eye out and I find him.”

Admittedly, it’s - not something he’s looking forward to. Surveying the jungle, it’s - wet. Particularly wet, the sort that creeps into redstone and makes his augments ache - and it’s perfect, perfect terrain for the sort of ambush tactic that he and the other creeper hybrid are designed for. Amongst the undergrowth, there’s just as good a chance that they trip over the guy as find him -

But, if they’re lucky - well, if he’s lucky - that’ll work in their favor. The other hybrid will be up, moving, trying to cover ground rather than bunkering down and hiding out. He’ll be feeling confident - and that means there’s a chance he’ll slip up.

“Right,” Mumbo agrees, sounding… less than convinced. “And if we don’t?”

“If we don’t, we get the rest of the server out here to look for his bed,” Xisuma says, looking less than enthusiastic about the prospect. “Or he dies, eventually, and I should be able to triangulate his respawn and teleport right to him. If I can find that, I can force-add his player signature, and I should have all the authorizations that I do for you two.”

Including the ability to kick them from the server and bar reentry, which is all they need to do. Except -

“If he dies, he will respawn, right?” Doc asks, and Xisuma nods.

“Yeah.” He glances over, and something in his gaze softens, because Xisuma may be pissed, but he’s not cruel. “Same as you. As many times as I have to.”

“It’s not me you need to worry about,” Doc tells him, jerking his head towards Mumbo, and that’s enough to make the admin crack a grin.

They enter the jungle to Mumbo’s loud protestations, and Doc takes a moment and just… listens. Forces himself to block it out and focus on the sounds of the woods - the soft creak of branches, the bubbling of little streams of rainwater still draining away, the birds in the canopy and the soft footfalls of an ocelot, just out of view.

He shuts his eyes, and the forest smells sweet. Like petrichor, and the small purple flowers dotted in the grass, and the sweet low-hanging cocoa blossoms dotted between the trees. Like rain-soaked bark and sodden moss.

His shoulder is already aching, faintly, with the wet. It’s fine - the rest of him feels great. Elated - by the moisture, the breeze, the faint gold sunlight tracing between the leaves. He can feel the faint fizz in his veins that is gunpowder, the easy relaxation at being so completely in his hybrid half’s element -

When he opens his eyes, Mumbo is a dozen steps ahead of them through the jungle, still rambling, but Xisuma has hung back, watching him with a fond look in his gaze.

“I’ll keep an eye on -” he nods towards Mumbo with a flicker of knowing smile behind his mask. “If you want to -”

“Yeah,” Doc agrees, and flashes him a little grin. “If you see anything -”

“I’ll comm,” Xisuma assures him, and that’s all that Doc needs to hear as he vanishes between the trees.

-----

He hears the players coming long before they can catch sight of him.

It’s - easy, slipping through the undergrowth behind them, slinking in and out between pools of shadow and golden mist, trident no more than a flick of his wrist away. And once he can see them, he recognizes - well, one of them.

The man he killed is alive, again. Alive, and bold as brass, guiding another player towards his last death -

And then the other player turns, and Sam’s chest goes cold, because the man is wearing a mask. Wearing a mask, and radiating power, and if Sam’s ever seen an admin, he recognizes this one, scanning the treeline warily, shadowing his player like a protective wolf.

“It was -”

The player he killed pauses, looking back, then forth, gaze sliding over Sam where he’s gone still within the thick ferns and swaying vines. “Somewhere a little up that way, I think,” he continues, after a moment. “Yeah. There should be a cliff just up that ridge - he got me right at the base of it.”

It’s far enough from where Sam set his respawn that - he should go. Slip back into the jungle and vanish into the undergrowth. Let them find the nothing he left behind, and go off on a goose chase.

But…

Something makes him hesitate, because…

Because he could end things where they stand. The Admin - Sam can see it, as he follows them through the jungle. He cares about this player - he’s got a wariness to his gaze to match the dead man’s confidence, a protectiveness to the way he responds at the creak of a branch overhead, gaze snapping to track the noise, blade already bared in one hand.

Sam recognizes that caution. He - understands it.

He’s already killed the player once. There’s no saying how many lives the man has left - but with his admin looking so on edge beside him, Sam would bet that it’s not many.

And - all he needs is a ticket out. He just needs a way off the server, through the shields and back out into the borderwilds - he and the admin should want the same thing. All he needs is a way to keep the admin from lashing out long enough to make a demand -

Something like a knife to the throat of a person that the admin obviously cares about.

Sam hardly registers the conscious decision before his blade falls into his hand.

-----

“Yeah,” Mumbo tells him, grinning as he gestures at the spatter of blood sprayed up the side of a tree. “Pretty sure this is it.”

“Yeah,” Xisuma says, absently, distracted by - by how much of it there is, and a chest-deep sense of guilt. “Looks - looks about right.”

Mumbo laughs, but there’s something hesitant to it. And, after a moment, there’s the squelch of wet moss underfoot, and his player is standing over him, one hand on his shoulder, and - warm. Close. Alive.

“You know this wasn’t your fault, right?”

He does, but -

He can’t quite bring himself to meet Mumbo’s smile. “I should have had a better eye on the shields -”

“It was a storm, Xi,” Mumbo tells him, and there’s a gentle edge on the words. “Just a freak thing. You - heck, you didn’t have any reason to think anyone was out travelling in it, let alone that they’d happen to be in the right spot to get into the server -”

“Yeah,” Xisuma agrees, dropping down to dig in the moss. “Do you see any of your gear?”

“Nope!” Mumbo doesn’t sound particularly put out, at least, by the loss of his stuff. “The ground’s pretty soft - maybe we can find footprints?”

It’s as good a plan as any. “Sure,” he tells the redstoner, pushing himself to his feet and ignoring the way the water’s soaked through his pants. “Here - you go check that way, I’ll look over here -”

They fan out, and Xisuma lets himself relax as he scours the brush for any signs of a trail. There are lots of footprints, actually - some of them probably Mumbo’s, all of them too indistinct in the spongy moss to clearly distinguish who they belong to.

He makes a note of the trail he does find, and he’s almost ready to turn back and see if Mumbo recognizes it as his own when -

There’s a panicked yelp behind him.

A panicked yelp, and then a sort of choking sound, like someone struggling - and then Mumbo shouts “Xisuma!” and he’s sprinting back towards the sound of his player’s voice -

“Stop!” orders a voice that he doesn’t recognize at all. Rough, and a little gravelly, and with the deep sort of authority that can only be backed up in steel -

Or netherite, like the edge of the sword-blade pressed roughly to Mumbo’s throat.

His player grins, helplessly, up at him, and Xisuma can’t help the rage in his chest as he stares up into the coal-black eyes of the trespasser currently holding his player hostage.

-----

The admin looks pissed.

That’s - fine, though. He stops, which is the important thing. Goes very, very still as he registers the sword that Sam has pressed to his player’s throat, hands rising almost automatically in - not surrender, but a momentary truce.

The player, mercifully, is smart enough not to try to fight back. He’s gone limp and agreeable, slumped back against Sam, and he’s long enough that even that is kind of inconvenient, but -

It doesn’t matter. Sam has no intention of letting this turn into a fight, if he doesn’t have to.

“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” he tells them, and the leggy one snorts a laugh that turns pained as he nicks his throat on the edge of the blade. “I just want to talk.”

“Let my player go, and I’ll consider it.” The admin… looks pissed, and Sam is pretty sure he knows how that’s going to go -

“No,” he says, up-front. “Listen, I want -”

“You’re not in any position to be making demands,” the admin snarls - and takes one terrifying step forwards, and the fear that Sam has been shoving down is suddenly right there. “Put my player down.”

“I’ll kill him,” Sam hisses back, baring his own teeth behind his mask. “Come another step closer, and I’ll kill him -”

“Guys,” his hostage says with the air of someone interrupting a brewing argument at a particularly awkward dinner party, “hey, everyone, Xi, can we calm things down a little -”

“I’ll make it hurt,” Sam tells him, tells them both, never letting his gaze flinch from the admin. “Stay right there or he bleeds out painfully, and I kill you, too, if I have to -”

And the admin - falters, for a moment, the fury in his stance growing muddied as his eyes flick to his player’s face. “Mumbo -” he says, and there’s honest concern there, concern he’s trying to hide -

Sam is pretty sure he’s right about the player. About his admin’s attachment, and he’d feel bad about taking advantage of it like this if he wasn’t so desperate.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he repeats, again. “I will if I have to. I just want to talk.”

“Okay,” says his hostage - Mumbo - before his admin can say anything. “Xi -”

“Alright,” says the admin, like it physically hurts. “What do you want?”

Thank Prime.

“I just need a way off the server,” he tells them. His voice is - rougher than he’d like, but - thank Prime, because if he does have to kill them, this gets infinitely more complicated. “Alive. We walk to the border, you let me out, and your player walks out of this unhurt, okay?”

“You let my player go, and I’ll let you off the server,” the admin tells him, gaze narrowing, and that’s not -

“Or I let him go, and you kill me.”

“Xisuma wouldn’t -” protests his hostage, but -

“No,” Sam tells him. “You walk me out of here, and I’ll go -”

He can see the admin hesitate -

And then the man’s eyes go wide behind his mask. Huge, and focussed on something just behind Sam, and that’s all the warning he gets -

He drags his sword across the player’s throat as he spins, letting the tall man drop to the ground as a corpse as he turns, because he’s not having two of them at his back -

- and howls in agony as fire blazes across his unprotected flank, lashing out with his already-bloodied sword as he meets black eyes that are a glinting match to his own.

-----

He runs, when he hears the screams. Books it to the nearest riverbank, and tosses himself down, taking advantage of the break in the canopy to fling himself skyward with a flick of his rockets.

His comm buzzes as he sails upward - a set of co-ordinates. He doesn’t reply, not wanting to risk the invader realizing that there’s another player inbound, and he receives nothing else - Xisuma is either too busy fighting to send him a full message, or…

Neither of them are dead, at least, and his comm stays still on his wrist as he flies west. He gains altitude as he goes, because -

Yes. There’s a break in the trees maybe a hundred blocks from the coordinates. He folds his wings and dives, landing silently among the bushes, and lets his elytra slip into inventory, replacing them in a gesture with his armor. He - considers, for a moment, his trident -

And then lets something else fall into his hand, instead, warm to the touch and perfectly round, with a dusty, cracked surface that feels dangerous as he rolls it between his fingers.

He very much doubts that Mumbo’s armor had fire resistance. He should have asked -

He shoves that thought away as he approaches through the undergrowth. It’s not important. There’s an instinctive, native fear of fire, for creepers - one that he feels, too, itching at the back of his mind -

But he’ll get over it. He knows it’s coming. The other hybrid doesn’t -

And as he reaches the coordinate, he realizes that he’s gotten terribly, terribly lucky. The man has a blade to Mumbo’s throat. Xisuma is standing a chunk away, hands raised, looking - tense, but not afraid, exactly. Mumbo has slumped, more relaxed, against the hulking man - and he’s tall, even for a creeper, almost a head taller than Doc -

And his back is to him. Sam slips through the bushes, lines up his charge as he closes the distance -

And something happens. Something to tip the man off, because even as Doc readies, the charge, there’s a yelp, and then a choking gurgle as the man slits Mumbo’s throat and spins to face him -

And Doc lunges, the flames blistering over his skin and hissing as it licks over and off of his own, enchanted armor when he shatters the fire charge across the other hybrid’s chestplate.

The creeper screams, and thrashes as his leaves ignite, dry edges burning and curling as he lashes out with his sword -

And Doc brings up his armored arm to block it, not flinching at his own hurt as he grins at the pain and panic in the other pair of black eyes.

Chapter Text

Sam stares up at the other creeper - other hybrid - for a moment, wild-eyed, registering -

And then, of course, he runs.

Shoves past the other man, shouldering him out of the way solidly, and flees, and he can hear a shout behind him that might be the admin -

That’s not what he’s worried about, though. Because his whole side is a mess, the forest too wet for the fire to last long, but holy Prime it hurts -

And he can hear the other hybrid behind him. Hear hissed threats, echoing through the jungle, almost drowned out by the wet sound of leaves as he shoves through the brush and the pounding of panic in his head -

Another fire charge flies over his shoulder, and he dives sideways and around as it splinters against a treetrunk just in front of him, spraying him with cinders and hot ash and a wall of flame that forces him to dart off his path and deeper into the woods. Another dogs his footsteps, and he can’t hold back a cry as the flames spray up around his heels, and then -

And then there’s a whistle-thump of rockets, and he dives sideways, expecting a blast, but instead there’s another fire charge, this time from overhead, and -

And the other creeper is flying -

On - whatever those purple things are, they’re some kind of wing, and Sam ducks his head and sprints headlong into the trees, because he needs cover -

He needs to get as much distance as he can between himself and the other hybrid, and lose the admin in the woods.

Fire blazes up in front of him, because in the air - the other creeper is fast. Faster than him by a long shot, cutting him off with a line of fire charges that broil through the trees and force him to cave off to the right, and Sam knows that he’s being herded, shepherded somewhere so that the admin can grab him or the hybrid can line him up for slaughter. And -

And he doesn’t have a lot of good choices left. He turns, ducking a volley of charges aimed to spatter all around him and force him on, and if he stands, and fights, he’ll die. He claws at his side, at the agonizing burns already broiled through his vines, and he doesn’t have any option except to play the other creeper’s game and run right down to his death -

Or defy him, and Sam is tired of following the rules.

He dives into the blazing forest recklessly, gambling on the wet to keep the fire-line thin and block it from spreading. His armor is heavy against his skin, and he can feel the metal heating up, withering crushed leaves as flames scorch across it. He shoves between the branches and the bracken, and all it would take is a clot of brush too tight for him to push through to kill him, but the bushes part around him even as the fire licks between them, and there’s a shout behind him - human, the admin, closer than he had thought, too close, their approach veiled by the crackling inferno.

The rockets blast overhead, and he runs, leaving the flames behind him, forcing the other hybrid higher to avoid the net-thick jungle vines. The admin’s shouting grows more distant, and Sam pours what energy he has left into growing that distance, until -

Until the world runs out beneath him. The ground falls away suddenly, with the jagged edge of a cliff, and he’s left scrambling to get his feet beneath him on the ledge -

The other hybrid sweeps, low and fast around him, but doesn’t blast him with more fire, and Sam, turning back, can see why. The fire behind him rises up like a wall - and this time, it’s too thick, the smoke too dense for him to possibly guess a safe path through the blaze.

There’s just enough clearance on the cliff’s edge that, if he stays still, the fire shouldn’t reach him. It would seem merciful, if it didn’t have the steel teeth of a trap clawing shut around him -

But below him is a valley. Narrow, canyon walls, bamboo threading thick and wild up between the canopies. Too dense, maybe, for the other creeper to track him -

If he can survive the jump.

The fire is too loud to hear if the admin is getting close. It drowns out even the sound of the rockets as the other creeper sweeps low overhead, and Sam considers, for a moment, his trident -

But the other is moving too fast, and he won’t get a second shot if he doesn’t kill with his first. He lets the weapon fall from his fingers, dropping away into nothing in surrender, and the other Creeper swings around, swoops low to land -

And Sam meets his eyes for a single moment, and grins through the pain, and tosses himself down the cliff face, water bucket already dropping into his fingers as the wind whistles past him.

-----

Doc doesn’t worry too much about the fire he leaves raging in his wake. The dull thrum of Xisuma’s magic slows the blaze - keeps the fire from settling into the wood and consuming the whole forest - and the wet of the rain stops it from spreading too quickly among the leaves.

The invader doesn’t seem to know that, if his panicked flight is anything to go by. Doc swoops overhead, raining fire charges down on him, and he turns and lets himself be led in circles by the flames that lick through the leaves.

And then -

He does something either very brave, or very stupid, and Doc isn’t sure which. He’s swept low for another pass, herding the invader toward the edge of the jungle, where he’ll be forced to break into open field and Xisuma will have the advantage in the air, when the other creeper darts left, instead, and plunges into the wall of fire springing up behind him -

Doc can feel his comm buzz with a message from Xisuma, but he ignores it, flicking his elytra to get distance and height and scanning the jungle for his quarry.

The invader has, at least, kept moving. It takes a moment to sight him,through the smoke, which hangs low and dark on the forest floor, weighed down by the wetness in the air, but the armor glints in the rising sun, and Doc grins.

Because he knows where the other hybrid is running. The river valley isn’t where he’d have chosen to end this chase, but it’s as good an end as any.

The invader runs -

And there’s a moment where Doc half-thinks he’s going to topple off the cliff and snap his neck, which - works, but…

But the invader manages to catch himself. He staggers back from the cliff, and Doc lays down a web of charges behind him, pinging Xisuma for his coordinates as he does. There’s a buzz of response, and he flicks his gaze to his comm - the admin is approaching, and fast. All he needs to do is keep the other hybrid pinned down.

The other creeper seems to realize it, too. He looks up at Doc, scans the valley below, and Doc has just enough time to ready for an attack before the trident falls from his hand in surrender.

It’s - not what he was expecting, but Doc circles again and glides down to land on the cliff’s edge -

And he’s just opened his mouth to - he’s not sure, demand an explanation, maybe, or at least a name - when the other creeper grins up at him, all teeth, and flings himself off the ledge.

-----

Landing - hurts.

Even with the water, it’s a rough jump - he lands on a ledge halfway down, and the hit is hard and unexpected and jarring, making his knees burn as he shoves himself off and continues his descent. The magic of the guy he killed’s boots insulates him from the worst of it, at least, and he manages to land the bucket at the bottom of the canyon.

He digs into his pack for a steak and rips into the cold meat as he shoves himself between the towering bamboo.

He doesn’t hear the other creeper follow him, at least. A rocket blasts overhead - but it’s just one, and flames don’t rain down between the bamboo on top of him.

And then it’s quiet. The sound of rockets grows distant, and Sam can only assume that the other hybrid is returning to his admin -

He slumps to the ground, letting his defenses drop, because pain hits him like a wall the moment fear stops driving him on.

He’s - a mess.

He manages to drag himself into some brush, propping himself on the base of the tree to assess the damage. He considers, for a moment, taking his armor off - but he hurts too much for the effort, and if he gets it off, there’s going to be no getting it back on.

The other creeper - even the admin - may not have been willing to follow him into the maze of bamboo, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other threats. A skeleton’s arrow will kill him just as dead as anything.

He doesn’t have any way to treat the injuries even if he exposes them, anyways. The handful of potions he had on him when he fled the SMP are long-gone, sacrificed for reckless distance in the initial retreat from the server. The little wool he has on him is sodden and filthy, and the food he’s got won’t do anything more just because he’s got the wounds open to air -

But rest might help, a little. At the very least, it will be less painful than being awake.

He tugs an extra branch across himself to hide the glint of his gear, and sleep swallows him up before he can second-guess it.

-----

“I mean - he’s got to be somewhere down there,” Doc says, eyeing the valley depths. “On foot -”

“Doc,” Xisuma says, and there’s something gentle in the word, his hand settling on Doc’s shoulder even as the interruption cuts him off. “It’s okay.”

Doc - can’t meet his eyes. He doesn’t look up from scanning the canyon.

“Mumbo is fine,” Xisuma tells him. “He’s safe back at his base.”

“And that guy is still -” Doc gestures, helplessly, at the bamboo forest.

He can hear how hard it is for Xisuma, but the admin, to his credit, only falters for a moment. “He’s - you messed him up pretty bad, Doc.” Doc isn’t sure if that’s reproach, in his voice, but -

“He cut Mumbo’s throat,” he grinds out. “Right in front of me. Excuse me for being a little upset -”

“I get it,” Xisuma tells him, with that same gentle tone. “Believe me. But he’ll have gone to ground - we’ve got time.”

“He’ll be moving as soon as he can -”

“His respawn isn’t going to be down there, though.” And Xisuma nods his head out at the valley. “If we can find that, hunting him doesn’t matter. Or he gets picked off in the night, and I track him down that way, but -”

Fingers wrap around Doc’s wrist, and squeeze, lightly, at the metal. He doesn’t quite manage to bite back a hiss at the sudden ache.

“You’re getting waterlogged,” Xisuma tells him. “It’s just going to be wetter, down there. We head back to your place, dry out, call the server together - if we can get ten people together, we’ll probably find wherever he set spawn before dark.”

Doc is opening his mouth to protest when the whole left side of his vision sparks and loses color perception. He lets out a yelp at the stinging on his face as the redstone arcs -

Something about his eye must flash, because Xisuma reaches out almost reflexively and slaps the side of his head. The world blurs and resolves back into focus half in greyscale, but the stinging, at least, is gone.

“Yeah,” he grunts, and this time he doesn’t meet Xisuma’s eyes because of embarrassment. “Maybe you’re right.”

Xisuma huffs like he knows he is, and shuffles his own elytra out of his inventory. “Do you have any sealant at home, or -?”

“I’ll have Iskall bring me some fresh cactus,” he huffs. “Reduce it down while I dry out my arm -”

“There we go,” agrees Xisuma encouragingly. “Are you going to be good to fly?”

Doc snorts. “I’d better be,” he tells the admin, waving his hand. “It’ll be drier than walking out, at least -”

But he pulls out a shulker anyways, filling it absently with everything except his elytra and a half-stack of rockets. He tosses it to Xisuma when he’s done, the admin slotting it neatly away into his own inventory with a curious look.

“Just in case I accidentally smash myself into a tree,” Doc tells him with a rueful grin, because the static in his vision may be gone for the moment, but there’s definitely that sort of twinge in his shoulder. “Grab my wings if I do?”

“Of course,” Xisuma tells him, fondly, and Doc takes a second to swing his arm wide through a stretch before launching himself into the late morning sky.

-----

They rendezvous with half the server at his house an hour later.

Mumbo is there, looking none the worse for the wear despite the silvery scar on his neck. It’s not too dark - the sort of thing that will fade within a few respawns to almost-nothing - but the sight of it is - steeling. Long, and jagged, and unnecessary -

But Mumbo laughs off his regret, and Bdub’s concern, and the thinly-concealed anger that Doc can read in Iskall’s tight gaze. He waves away Xisuma’s apology, too -

“It’s fine,” he tells them. “Look - the guy was freaking out, but he said he just wanted off of the server, and we just want him off of the server, right? Like, he was - a bit rough, maybe, but I think he was more scared than anything -”

Iskall, at least, doesn’t look like he thinks that’s a particularly good excuse, but everyone knows that the redstoners are… close-knit. Ethos, when he arrives, doesn’t look any more impressed by the explanation, but he settles for brushing his thumb across the scar with an almost feather-light concern before turning to help Doc pry his arm apart.

It’s - a bit damp. Not enough to have corroded the redstone itself, but Doc can definitely make out the scorchmarks of arced redpower where the humidity infiltrated the limb’s metal casing, and it takes longer than he’d like to wipe away the blackened oxides with one hand while Ethos works on the more delicate fingers with two.

He’s heavier on the sealant than usual, when the cactus green is done reducing, and by the time his eye is dry enough to reboot, the limb is at least back in working order.

He clenches and unclenches it experimentally, tossing an apple up and down to calibrate the sensors, then an egg as he brings the pressure sensitivity back online. By the time Cleo and False have arrived and reassured themselves that Mumbo is fine, so is the arm, and half of the server actually is assembled in his living room.

“We’re looking for a bedroll, most likely,” Xisuma tells them, sprawling with one leg folded under him on Doc’s slightly-to-large armchair. His pose is casual, but there’s no question that he’s controlling the room, every eye on him. “Red, if it’s the one that he took off Mumbo, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find in the leaves, but he may have had his own on him, or dyed it. He’ll probably have hidden it, so we’re going to be systematic about this - take things chunk by chunk.”

“We’re sticking to pairs,” Doc tells them. “This guy - he’s good with a trident, and the last thing we need is people getting picked off before you can even get eyes on him.”

“I’ll be primed to teleport to the partner, if anyone does die unexpectedly,” Xisuma explains. “But we don’t think he’ll have made it back up out of the river valley. Most likely, he’ll avoid you even if you do run across him - he’ll see you before you see him.”

Bdubs laughs, at that, and Xisuma nods his head conciliatory. “With one exception,” he admits, and the player grins back at him.

“If we haven’t found him by sunset, we’ll meet up back here, and see what sort of ground we’ve covered,” Xisuma tells them. “There’s a real chance he’ll reset his spawn wherever he winds up, if he can, but there’s also the chance that a spider or something manages to get a kill on him. I’ll be able to teleport right to him, in that case.”

“Sure,” False says, nodding. “And if we get a shot on him?”

“Kill him.” Xisuma doesn’t hesitate. “He’s got as many lives as you do, on the server - easier for me to just TPA’ him when he’s respawned and deal with him then.”

From the look that False shares with Cleo -

Well, Doc would almost regret setting the two of them after the other hybrid, if not for the scar on Mumbo’s neck.

Chapter Text

“Nothing?” Doc calls, scanning the forest around them as Ethos scrabbles up out of the cave.

“Nothing,” the redstoner confirms. “Not for at least a hundred blocks in - I doubt he’d go much further just to hide a bed -”

“He might have,” Doc tells him. “A hundred blocks is still pretty shallow -”

“There was plenty of exposed ore on the walls,” Ethos replies, and Doc wraps a hand around his wrist and helps haul him out of the hole before he continues. “Iron, and a little gold. I doubt he’d have left it -”

“Unless he was trying to throw us off.”

“If we follow that logic, we’re never going to find him, Doc,” Ethos tells him, but there’s a fondness to it that takes some of the edge off the words. “We’ve got at least fifty chunks left to go through. I’d much rather take the odds he’s somewhere obvious in one of them than that he’s found the world’s most perfect hiding spot in this cave.”

And - “Fair enough.” Doc helps Ethos to his feet and grins ruefully at the other man. “Let’s keep moving, then.”

“Yeah.”

They move on companionably, in silence, through the jungle, Ethos slinking along in the crushed-aside bushes as Doc clears the path. Then Ethos snorts.

“So.” Doc turns to glance over his shoulder at him, and Ethos’ eyes have a squint to them that says he’s grinning under his mask. “Are we thinking it’s our guy who’s going to kill Mumbo this afternoon, or something else?”

“He’s got False and Cleo watching his back,” Doc tells the redstoner with a grin of his own. “My bet is they find a temple and he messes up the switches.”

“Mumbo? Never.” Ethos laughs, though. “Redstone solidarity all the way. If I had to put diamonds on it - he falls down a hole and a skeleton picks him off before the girls can get down to him. But this guy’s already picked him off twice -”

“He’s not going to take a third shot,” Doc assures him, and can’t quite quell the curl of angry satisfaction in his gut, because - “He was a mess, by the time he got away from me. I wouldn’t bet on him being able to get out of the valley - if he had pots, he would’ve used them while he was running.”

“Good.” And there’s something just as vehement - just as angry - in the way he says it, because they might joke, but Mumbo is - he’s a good guy. A good friend.

And it’s ugly, but Doc can’t help hoping that the other hybrid manages to crawl out of the valley, because he’s like nothing more than an excuse to put another fire charge down his throat.

-----

Sam wakes feeling numb.

Not the soothing sort of numbness that comes with an absence of pain. This is - cloying. He can’t feel his fingertips. His thoughts feel sluggish. The world feels too hot - not the comfortable heat of the jungle, or the pain of fire, but the churning heat of a fever.

He lays in the mud for a while, just - feeling numb. He doesn’t have the strength to move.

Finally, though, he forces himself upright. Gets onto his hands and knees, and crawls, a little, until he finds a sturdy enough stump to haul himself upright. His fingers dig into the rotting wood as he puts his weight on it - but the stump holds his weight even as he sags over the top of it, armor digging furrows into the spongy bark.

Something in his mind warns him to be careful, that he’s leaving signs for the hunters to follow -

But these players aren’t Dream, he forces himself to remember. Dream - probably hasn’t even made it onto the server. The shield the admin’s raised…

He doesn’t let himself think about the idea of Dream already being inside it, searching for him. If he is, Sam is already dead. There’s no way he’s evading his former admin like this.

Fear spurs him on, anyways. He digs in the bag, a golden carrot snapping like bone between his teeth. It’s not perfect - nowhere near the rush of true healing that an apple would give him - but it’s good, regardless. It’s the sort of energy he needs to struggle fully upright, and survey the forest around him.

Noon has dyed it emerald. The light tracing through the leaves has a deep green-gold tint that seems to saturate even the dark tree-bark, and sink into the edges of everything. Camouflage, something instinct-deep hisses, even though his armor would betray him in an instant to a player’s eyes. He listens, but the woods around him are quiet, except for the soft songs of insects, and the occasional croak of a parrot.

He gets to his feet slowly. It hurts so much.

Hurts, but - he needs water. Something to scrub the taste of smoke out of his mouth, and - maybe clean himself up, if he has the strength for it. If he can find reeds, make paper - something.

He needs medicine, he knows. There - it’s not an option. Even if he had an apple, he doesn’t have the strength to mine for gold. He doesn’t have the magic to build the furnace, or lay the enchantments on the fruit -

He’s dying. It’s stubbornness, maybe, that forces him to press on anyways.

One foot in front of another, until, at last, he stumbles through the treeline, and almost into a small pond. The water is still, and cool, and he hauls himself into it recklessly, because it feels so good against ruined vines, and even as wet as it’s been his body drinks up the moisture -

He’s going to wither more, probably. Go yellow all over from being wet. If he was still on Dream’s server, he might be self-conscious - Tommy would laugh at him, if Tommy would still look him in the eye. Foolish might give him a worried look, and lift him out of the water, and scold him about drainage.

It’s a whole fresh type of hurt, to think about it, and he shoves the thoughts away.

Getting back out of the water is… harder. He sloshes it in his mouth, and spits, and the water comes away black, once, twice, and again - and the third time, he drinks it down, and deeply, and his mouth, at least, doesn’t taste like ash anymore. He splashes the wet over his head until the worst of the stink of soot is gone.

He puts it off until he can’t, anymore, and then just - sits, for a moment. Contemplates just staying there until he’s caught, or he drowns, but - no.

He drags himself out of the pond on coiled roots, and lays, heaving for breath, on the bank for a moment before forcing himself upright.

He - walks.

He walks until the sun starts to sink behind him, painting the sky a dusky blue-purple. Gold scatters all around him, shifting with shadows as canopy-high boughs sway in the breeze, but there’s still enough light that he’s not worried about mobs spawning - not yet. It’s slow going - so painfully, exhaustingly slow, but he’s moving forwards, at least, hunched over like he’s got a wind in his face driving him back.

He doesn’t know how far he’s gone. His head is spinning and light, his body hot again all over as the fever rises back up and saps his strength -

And he almost walks into the smooth wall of dark wood rising up in front of him.

It takes him a moment to register what it is. It’s got - in a lot of ways, it has more the character of a cliff than a tree trunk, sprawling out to either side of him in a heavy band of logs, trellised all over with ivy and studded with flowers. But it’s unmistakably player-made, as he stares upward - there’s a hint of glass peaking over the edge of what is obviously an enormous constructed treetop, and there’s a moment of cold fear as he goes still, half-expecting the build’s owner to ambush him from behind -

But no one does. Nothing moves in the forest - the only sounds he hears, holding his breath and fighting to calm his hearts so he can listen, closing his eyes so he can focus past the throbbing in his head, are the caws of parrots, and the distant sound of what must be a farm -

And - it might be a chance. If he’s daring enough - if he’s willing to risk a little more of the admin’s wrath getting caught -

But a player means - supplies. Gold, probably, even if they don’t have potions, and looking at the grandeur of the build towering overhead, he’d be surprised if there wasn’t a brewing stand. Apples, maybe, if he’s lucky. Shelter - and as stars appear in the dusty, fading sky, that’s rapidly becoming more of a concern -

He weighs his odds, but - hiding in place, finding some dark corner to squirrel himself away in, and maybe even reset his spawn somewhere the admin will never think to look for it - it sounds… better than trying to last another night in the woods. Because he can’t risk sleeping out in the open so close to an active build - there will be too many mobs, too much danger, and moving through the jungle in the dark is a death sentence -

The base of the build, at least, is lit in flickering torches and dangling lanterns. He skulks his way to the edge of the ring of light, every sense alert for the movements of a player in the constructed treetop overhead, or an enemy in the woods behind him, but it’s… quiet.

He nearly chokes on his relief when he spies the trap-door hidden between the logs of the tree’s roots.

It takes more effort than he has in him to make it up the tangled roots. He almost sobs when his fingers catch the edge of the door and it’s unlocked, because - if it wasn’t, he’s not sure what he’d do. Curl up and wait to be caught, maybe.

But it’s not locked, and he lets himself drop inside without even bothering to listen for potential threats. The fall is mercifully short - he doesn’t have the strength left for the ladder, and then -

He’s stumbling to his feet in a storage room, chests all around him, blocking him from view.

He hasn’t been this lucky in a long time. Months, maybe. Years?

Years, probably. He shoves a chest open, and it’s -

Building supplies, mostly. There’s an old iron axe, edge chipped with use, and stacks and stacks of logs that must be left over from the construction of the massive tree. There’s a stack of glass that might be worth stealing, if he had any use for it, and he considers it and takes it anyways on the off chance that he finds a brewing stand.

There’s nothing else useful. He lets the lid drop shut, and leans against it, for a minute, catching his breath before he moves onto the next one -

He’s searched the whole line of chests before he spots one that stands out. A double-chest, not in line with the others but propped next to a staircase two blocks wide that seems to lead upwards towards the rest of the base. It looks - convenient, if the owner just needed to dart downstairs and grab something, or toss some stuff out of his inventory -

He limps over to it, and this time, he doesn’t manage to hold back the sob as he grabs a golden apple from the chest. It’s round, and warm, and perfect in his hand, and he holds it for a moment, letting the magic run over the glinting peel and across his fingers -

And then he sinks his teeth into it, and collapses to his knees as the power flows down his throat. It’s health, and healing, and warm like sun-soaked sand against the ache of everything - cool like magma cream against the burns run down his side -

He doesn’t manage to move, for a minute, just - shaking, slightly, leaves quavering as muscles that have been tight for hours go slack in relief. And then he manages to find the strength to raise the apple to his lips, and take another bite, and another, and another, and he can feel the magic stitching the worst of his wounds back together -

He takes another. Eats it, greedily, because he needs to be able to run -

But the healing, for all it helps, doesn’t force back the corners of exhaustion. Instead, it saps him more, dragging out his strength as the fruit draws on his own energy for fuel to weave fresh muscle and skin and vines.

By the time he’s finished the second apple, he’s almost too tired to move.

And the storeroom feels - safe. Some primitive part of his brain likes it - cramped, and flickering with shadows even if it’s not comfortably true-dark, and the air is warm and drier than the jungle outside -

He should go.

But the jungle will have faded into true night, and he doesn’t have the energy to fight or run.

He should go -

But instead, he just… drags himself back. No one will come looking for him, here. Not tucked out of sight in a corner, where he can take some time and sleep until the worst edge of exhaustion has worn off.

He tucks himself around the corner from the stairs, curled between stone floor and the logs of the wall, and - settles. Lets himself shrink back into a pile of leaves, something unobtrusive and out of sight in the dim light of shadows, and -

He’s unconscious before he can register another thought.

-----

“Nothing?” Doc asks as False drags herself into the room, twigs woven through her hair like a coronet of debris.

“There are so many skeletons in the jungle,” she tells him, with a tired laugh. “There are so many skeletons, and Mumbo managed to find every. Single. One.”

That gets a chuckle from everyone who’s made it back to his castle - Bdubs, looking just as covered in debris but a lot happier about it; Xisuma, who’s fiddling with his console, still sprawled across Doc’s chair; Ethos, who’s having a quiet conversation with Iskall in the corner, fiddling with a comparator.

False throws herself onto a free spot on the couch, and grins, anyways. There’s a razor-slice line on her cheek, already half-healed, and a smear of blood that trails down her chin - a larger pool of it around a tear in her shirt, but she looks fine, otherwise. “We did it, though,” she announces, and there’s triumph in her voice. “Cleo’s taking him home. As long as he doesn’t paste himself into a cliff on the way, we’ve successfully taken him into and out of the jungle alive. Once.”

There’s a pause, as the whole room goes silent, half-expecting a dramatically timed death message to buzz at their comms - after another beat, False slumps and relaxes. “There we go. See?”

“Nice work,” Doc tells her, grinning, and she gives him a thumbs up. “No sign of our guy, I guess?”

“Nothing,” she agrees. “And we fell into every hole and half-grown-in-puddle on the north side of the jungle. If he was up there, we didn’t find any sign of him.”

“It’s fine,” Xisuma assures her. “Neither did anyone else. I went back over the whole route we chased him down with Iskall - we didn’t see any sign of him, either, except for some tracks.”

“And the fire,” Iskall adds.

“And the fire.” Xisuma flicks away the blue screen of his console, and drags himself upright. “I think we’re done for tonight, if people want to head out. Best case scenario, he gets shot by a skeleton in the night - worst comes to worst, he’s gone to ground, and he’ll probably be resetting his spawn, anyways.”

“Yeah.” False doesn’t move for another moment, though - and when she does, it’s to yawn. “I should probably get back. Iskall?”

“Yeah, one sec -” The redstoner leans in, whispers something to Ethos, and glad-hands him a half-stack of some kind of component that are gone into Ethos’ inventory before Doc can catch sight of them. It’s the sort of worrying interaction that they’re all used to between the two inventors, though, so he tries not to worry about it too much - they almost certainly aren’t going to blow up his base.

Bdubs rises, too, shaking out his cloak behind him with a cheery smile. “I should get going, too,” he tells them, and False hesitates.

“You want some company?” she asks. “Just in case - you’re not that far out of our way, Isk and I’d be happy to fly out with you -”

“I was going to walk, actually,” he tells her, waving away the offer. “Don’t worry - I’ll be fine.”

And - anyone else, Xisuma would almost certainly interrupt and make take an escort. Doc can see the uncomfortable shift in his posture at the thought of letting Bdubs wander out into the woods with at least one hostile player potentially lurking -

But this is Bdubs, and just beyond the friendly little grin, there’s the steel of a man who is one hundred percent sure that there is no danger lurking in the woods that could threaten him.

“Yeah,” False agrees, after a beat. “Fair enough.”

“You two have a nice flight home, though!” he tells them, and then -

He hikes up the cloak around his shoulders, and suddenly, he’s more bush-like than even Doc. Wild brown hair blends into the moss-green wool, and his posture becomes hunched as he makes his way over towards the door.

He gives another little wave, and then - gone, pushing it open and almost seeming to vanish as he strides out towards the treeline and away from the glow of the doorway.

They watch him go, and then Xisuma gives a snort. “He’ll be fine.”

And the soft tension of the moment fragments around them. False laughs, and Iskall is grinning as he makes his way over to her, shouldering his elytra on as he does.

“Comm in the morning if you need anything,” he calls back to them, and then the two of them are gone in a flare of rockets.

“Were you two going to crash, then?” he asks, turning back to Xisuma and Ethos.

“If you don’t mind,” Ethos agrees, as Xisuma nods.

“Easier for me to manage the teleport if he does get killed,” he explains, and Doc gives his own hum of assent.

“Give me a second, I’ll put up some bunks.”

“Thank you,” Ethos tells him, with a smile, and Doc lets himself relax and return it as the inventor wanders off to fiddle with his stove.

Chapter Text

He’s warm and dry and comfortable when he wakes up.

His head is - muggy, though. There’s a faint shadowiness to the world, a pounding that has receded just enough that it isn’t really painful, just - distracting.

Sam shifts, a little, and tucks his head into Fran’s soft side with a groan.

And then -

Then he remembers where he is, and suddenly, he’s awake, because he hasn’t seen Fran in weeks.

He scrambles upright, shoving the blanket tucked around his shoulders and bunched under his head off of himself. Getting his feet under him, and he regrets it immediately, because - right. Pain. It radiates down his side as he gets himself upright, crouched with the corner at his back - no longer sharp agony but a dull, infected throbbing that threatens to drag tears to his eyes. He has to fight the soft fabric a little, tugging it off of himself to puddle at his feet in a loose pile, and stares at it, for a moment, as he clutches his side, because - what?

Then there’s a concerned noise from just in front of him, and his gaze snaps up to -

He doesn’t know.

It’s - a guy, he registers after a moment, wearing a thick wool cloak woven with a heavy pile that makes him look almost like he’s buried in moss.

It’s a guy, less than three steps away from him, crouched like he’s been watching Sam for - a while, and Sam meets friendly brown eyes for exactly as long as it takes for the urgency of the situation to register -

And then he surges forwards, ignoring the way the pain turns into hot agony, and lashes out with his trident even as the other man tries to speak.

The moss-guy scrambles backwards, with a yelp, hand swinging up to protect his face as Sam swings the trident wide. Sam flips upright, whole side burning, claws his way to his feet, and the other man retreats backwards, to the base of the stairs - flees up them, as Sam throws his trident, the weapon burying itself in the wall as he dodges.

Sam flicks his fingers, and the weapon springs back to his hand. He gets it under him and leans against it as he drags himself towards the staircase. There's no way he's getting out of the trapdoor - he's not going to have the strength to pull himself through, but -

The admin will be on his way. So will whatever reinforcements the player has called - the other creeper hybrid, probably, but Sam still doesn’t have any read on the other members of the server -

Except that there are at least four enormous builds - not counting this castle - each of which could easily house a whole group of players. He’s outnumbered, possibly by a lot, and he staggers as he tries to straighten, and he needs to get out of here -

He makes it halfway up the stairs, limping and leaning on the wall as he goes, before the door at the top opens again, light flooding into the basement and making his eyes sting as it frames the moss-guy’s silhouette.

This time, he hasn’t come unarmored. Sam can see the glint of diamond under his cloak, and the man has a shield in one hand, a sword in his other, taking up the whole width of the staircase between them.

Sam freezes, because where does he go -

Back down the stairs and out through a wall is the obvious answer, but it leaves his back unguarded with the man above him, and he weighs for a moment the benefits of turning to run with standing to fight and maybe picking off the guy’s chestplate -

“Hey,” the man says - and drops his sword back into inventory, the hand coming back up empty. “Hey. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Sam - doesn’t move.

It’s a trap - moss-guy is obviously just distracting him until his admin can show up - but he’s still exhausted, and the moment he runs they’re going to be on him, anyways -

He doesn’t know if he can even run, like this. He bares his teeth beneath his mask, but it’s more grimace than threat.

Moss-guy takes a single step down the stairs, and Sam raises his trident - but the man stops. He seems to hesitate - and then slides down, until he’s sitting on the topmost stair, the shield covering everything except his face -

Which ducks down, too, the shield coming up to take Sam’s half-hearted throw, and pokes back out as he flexes his hand to call it back.

“Please don’t kill me,” the man says, but there’s no fear in it. “My bed’s right upstairs, anyways. I’ll just keep respawning.”

And -

And something in his chest turns hopeless, and exhausted, and -

He lowers his trident.

He lets himself sink down to the stair, leaning heavily on the wall, twisting with his back to the moss-guy, because - it doesn’t matter. He hurts. He hurts, and he’s not getting away, this time, and -

- and it’s still not enough to stop him from flinching at the clunk of the man dropping his shield back into inventory, but he doesn’t look up. Not as the guy rises to his feet, and makes his way, slowly and carefully, down the steps -

There’s a creak of wood as the man crouches down behind him, and a warm hand settles on his shoulder. If Sam is going to twist and kill him, try something risky to get away, he’ll never have a better moment -

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t have the energy. He can’t manifest the willpower.

“Hey,” moss-guy says, voice quiet, with an awful, deceptive gentleness. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The laugh that slips from his lips is hissing and dry and awful.

“I won’t,” moss-guy tells him, like he can read the disbelief in the sound. “Here -”

He’s - surprisingly strong, for such a small man. Sam winces as he’s half-dragged to his feet, but the man doesn’t seem to mind being leaned on as he escorts Sam back down the stairs -

And pauses to survey the room at the bottom.

“I’m not sure why I brought you back down here,” he says after a moment, like an admission. “I only left you down here because I didn’t want to wake you up - hold on -”

He helps Sam over to a chest, and Sam - doesn’t try anything. He just lets himself slump back against the cold stone of the wall, and watches as the man starts to dig through his wall of storage.

“Oh - you found the apples,” he says, absently, but there’s no anger in it. “One sec - here -”

And then there’s a bed, in the corner, and moss-guy is back at his side, pulling him upright, limping him over to the mattress and helping him sit on the edge.

He straightens, and crosses his arms as if considering Sam. Sam - looks up at him, exhausted, and tries not to think about how pitiful he must look -

“Do you want something to drink?” the man asks, after another moment. “You look kind of - brown.”

Sam can’t hold back another laugh, rasping as he does. “Yes. Please.”

He’s honestly surprised when the man nods, and offers him a bottle. A little more surprised when he puts it to his lips, and tastes it, and it’s just water.

He looks up again, and - “Thanks.”

“Here,” the man tells him, taking the empty bottle and offering him another. He sits down on the edge of the bed as Sam drinks it, too, and a warm hand rubs gently across his back.

“Do you - want to take your armor off?” the man asks, hesitantly, after a moment. Sam tenses, but - “I’m not going to make you, I mean. I was just thinking - you might be more comfortable, and I could take a look at those burns -”

And the armor isn’t doing him any good, is it? If it comes down to a fight, he’s not in any condition for it, armor or no.

“Yeah,” he says, fumbling for the straps and letting the pieces fall away into his inventory. Moss-guy helps, flicking free the shoulder-belts on his chestplate as Sam gets the side-catch, and then it’s off, and he can -

Breathe again, a little easier, at least. He’s sore everywhere the armor pressed into his skin, bruised and covered in areas where his leaves have been crushed, but at least he can get air against his bruises.

“There,” moss-guy tells him as the last piece falls away. But there’s a catch to his breath as he surveys Sam, and the brush of a touch across his ruined leaves as the man examines his injuries. “Ouch -”

“Yeah,” Sam snorts, because - ouch. He lets his eyes slip shut, and just - focuses on the pain, for a minute. Forces it back down, until he can breathe again.

By the time he opens his eyes, the man has risen from his side. That’s not what surprises him. What does is the chest he’s digging through, and the bottle of melon-sweet pink potion in his hand -

And the bonemeal that he tips into it before offering the bottle.

“Or -” moss-guy hesitates, when he looks up and sees Sam watching him - “That’s what Doc usually does -”

“Yeah,” Sam says, after another beat. “Can I -” he gestures, and the man passes him the bottle. It tastes - almost sickly, like rotting fruit, but he knocks it back unflinchingly, and almost shakes with relief.

“Is Doc the -” he starts, when the moss-guy doesn’t say anything for another moment, and the man seems almost too eager to have something to talk about.

“- other creeper-hybrid?” he interjects, before Sam can say guy who tried to kill me, which - at least it’s more tactful. “Yeah. You’ve met him?”

“He was -” and how to put it as delicately? “- trying to catch me with your admin, yes.” He hesitates, because he doesn’t really want to know, but - “When are they coming to get me?”

“Who - Xi?” The moss-guy blinks at him owlishly, and Sam hesitates, because - what? “I mean - I don’t think he knows you’re here. I didn’t tell him -”

What?

“What?” Sam asks, when the moss-guy doesn’t explain.

“I mean - no offense, you look pretty beat up. I figured I’d let you get some sleep, at least.” It’s moss-guy’s turn to falter. “Why would I tell him where you are?”

“So he can kick me off his server?” Sam answers, almost uncertain in the face of - of whatever you’d call the sort of vague puzzlement in moss-guy’s reply. Or kill him, he doesn’t bother to say, even though that’s probably the more likely outcome at this point.

“Oh,” moss-guy says, and shifts uneasily. “Do you want to get kicked off the server? Because you - you don’t look too good.”

His gaze settles on Sam’s side, and - there’s something sympathetic there, Sam thinks, but -

“Wait - you’re hiding me?” Moss-guy perks up a little, at that. “Wait - what?”

“I mean - just a bit,” he starts, and Sam -

“Shit,” he says, dragging himself upright, a little. “Shit - you can’t -”

“Language,” moss-guy tells him. “I mean - I can -”

“Your admin’s going to be -” Sam doesn’t even have a word to describe it - “He’s been hunting me since I got onto the server, I killed one of his players - twice. If you hide me - he’ll toss you off the server right with me -”

“Who, Xi?” Moss-guy laughs, but his hands are careful as he reaches out to push Sam back onto the bed, and his next words are - confident, at least. “No he won’t.”

Sam - doesn’t know what to say to that easy certainty. He hesitates -

But moss-guy just settles on the edge of the bed, again. “Xi’s - a great guy, really!” he says, and there’s such honest fondness to the words that Sam almost believes them. “He’s - protective, yeah, and killing Mumbo didn’t start you off on the best foot, either, but he’s nice once you get to know him. And he cares about us - all of us, I mean, his hermits - a lot. I might get yelled at, but -”

He shrugs. “He wouldn’t hurt me about it. He won’t kick me out.”

“That’s -” Sam starts, but - he doesn’t know what to say to that. He - he should shut up, take the strange mercy he’s being offered and whatever else the moss-guy is willing to give him, but… “Why risk it -”

“Because you didn’t look very scary when I came in,” the man tells him, like anything is as easy as that. “You look sick. And - I wanted to know, you know - why?”

The word sounds like a trap. It puts Sam on edge, but if the moss-guy wanted to hurt him, he wouldn’t need words -

“Why what?” he asks, and it’s half a real question and half stalling for time.

“Why did you kill Mumbo?” he’s asked, and he flinches at the question, but moss-guy doesn’t falter or wait for an answer. “Why are you here? What are you running away from?”

He pauses, as if hoping Sam will chime in, and then:

“Why not just ask for help?”

Thinking about the answers - aches. All except for the last one - and at that, he laughs, and there’s no hiding the bitterness in it. “You think your admin would’ve helped me?”

“I would have,” they tell him, as if it’s just that simple. “Mumbo would’ve - probably Xi, too, if you hadn’t stabbed somebody first -”

Sam snorts in disbelief and doesn’t meet moss-guy’s eyes. “Sure.”

“But - why are you here?” they ask after another moment. “I mean - where are you from?”

“My server -” he hesitates, but… “I had an admin. He wanted me to - to help him hurt one of the players on our server, but in the end, we wound up locking him up instead. And when he got out -”

He can’t keep the helpless smile off his lips. “He decided to take it out on me.”

“You ran?” moss-guy asks, voice gentle.

“Yeah.” Sam waves a hand. “He - if he was off chasing me, he wasn’t - wouldn’t be hurting anyone else. I’ve been hiding out in the borderwilds for almost a month, now - I didn’t mean to come onto your server at all.”

“So Mumbo -”

“He attacked me,” Sam tells him, ignoring the sound of disbelief as moss-guy leans away. “Jumped out of the trees and landed on me - I didn’t even know I had crossed into a server -”

“He thought you were Doc,” moss-guy says, like he’s just realizing something. “Mumbo - he was flying overhead and thought you were Doc -”

“Yeah, well -”

And then -

Sam cuts himself off. Forces himself to shut up, because -

Because moss-guy is the first friendly face he’s seen in a long time. The only friend he might have on this server, and even with the potion, he’s tired -

But moss-guy, mercifully, seems to recognize it. He pauses, too, and then, quiet:

“I won’t tell Xi that you’re here,” he offers, voice gentle. “At least for a couple days, okay? He doesn’t want anything except to kick you off the server. He won’t hurt you. We don’t - we don’t do that kind of thing here.”

Sam nods, helplessly, because that’s better than he has any right to expect, honestly.

“We were out looking for your respawn, earlier, so that he could pull your playerdata,” the man tells him. “But no one found it, so - set it here, tonight, okay? That way even if someone runs into it, you’ll be safe.”

“Sure,” Sam tells him. It might be a trap, but if it is, he can’t see the point -

“And I’ll make something nice for breakfast tomorrow, okay?” They seem cheered by his acquiescence. “Just - get some rest, and give me a shout if you need another potion? Or - one second, I’ll grab a couple and put them over here where you can reach -”

There’s a flurry of motion as the man drags a chest towards the bed, turns, starts digging around in another, and all Sam can bring himself to do is watch, bewildered. And then -

“You get some sleep, okay?” they tell him, all kind eyes and friendly smile.

“Sure,” Sam agrees, and they grin. “Good night?”

“Goodnight!” they tell him, and turn to head back up the stairs. But -

“What’s your name?” he calls after them, before he can forget. Moss-guy pauses, looking almost surprised at the question -

And then laughs again, as if he can’t believe he’s forgotten.

“I’m Bdubs,” he says, eyes flashing warm and fond. “And you?”

“Sam,” Sam tells him, feeling vaguely lost, and lets himself sink back against the soft mattress as Bdubs vanishes up the stairs.

Chapter Text

He’s more than half surprised when he wakes up to a dark and quiet storeroom, and not - anything else, honestly. The Admin looming over him. A sword through his chest.

Instead, it’s just - quiet. Warm, though without the pleasant mugginess of the jungle, with the only light the thin rays streaming through the trapdoor he snuck in through.

He doesn’t really want to get up. The mattress under him is soft and comfortable, and his burns still ache, though the fever seems to have receded a little. He’s not in pain anymore, just - tired.

But he needs to be on his feet, because -

However harmless moss-guy - Bdubs - had seemed, he’s not. Either he’s just merciful enough to give Sam a little extra time to rest before calling down his Admin, and they’ll be on him before he has time to run, or -

- or he’s the type of player who would deliberately hide something as major as the player his Admin is actively hunting for, and that’s not the sort of person Sam can trust.

But -

Above him, the house is quiet. There are the shuffles and creaks of any ambitious build, the limbs of the tree groaning in the breeze, but no voices, and Sam weighs the odds of just - being able to slip out through the trapdoor again and make off into the woods. Possibly after looting the other player’s chests, which feels wrong but -

But the door to the basement opens before he can make a decision, light flooding into the darkness, and Sam goes very, very still.

“Hey,” Bdub’s voice calls quietly from the top of the stairs. “Are you awake, yet?”

Sam - considers. Weighs whether Bdubs knows already and is just being polite, or whether there’s a chance that if Sam is quiet, he’ll just go away, but -

“Yeah,” he manages, voice rasping a little. “I’m awake.”

“Oh!” The surprise in Bdubs’ voice tells him that it was probably the latter, but the other player just takes a few steps down the stairs and then bends to peek under the rail at him. “Oh - great! I was wondering if you wanted to come up for breakfast, or if I should bring something down?”

“I’ll come up,” Sam tells him awkwardly. “Uh - there’s no one else, right?”

“Nope!” Bdubs’ voice is cheery. “I don’t have many neighbors - Doc lives on the other side of the jungle, and Cleo’s base is east, but everyone else settled on the main island, this season. They don’t come out this far regularly, though - I usually go visit them.”

“Sure.” But Sam - hesitates. “That guy I killed -”

“Mumbo?” Bdubs shrugs. “He’s around. The upper forest is a good place to hunt parrots and cats and stuff - or for wood, if you need a lot of it. I don’t even think he’s seen my build this season - maybe I should have him over -”

Sam can’t keep down the choked sound, and Bdubs looks over at him. “Oh. Right.” He nods agreeably. “Not until you’re gone, of course!”

“Thanks,” Sam tells him, and gets a grin that’s as bright as the sun.

“But - yeah!” the shorter player waves him towards the stairs. “Breakfast?”

It’s - a lot more stairs than he was expecting, honestly, and he’s struggling for breath a little by the time he manages to make it to the top. Bdubs has already long since beat him up, and gives him an apologetic look.

“Yeah, I know - it’s a pretty big tree,” he says. “There’s a water elevator, but with the burns I figured it wasn’t going to be good to drench you like that -”

“I’m fine,” Sam tells him, chest burning, a little. “Can I sit -”

“Oh - yeah, of course!” Bdubs half-shoves him towards a table, rough-hewn and wooden. “Here -”

Sam settles into one of the chairs as the shorter man bustles off to mess with the furnace. The bread smells good - but he’s a little surprised when Bdubs turns to look over his shoulder and calls back “Do you like your fish raw, or…?”

His surprise must register on his face, because Bdubs gives him a sunny smile. “I mean - not that I mind cooking it! I was going to make some for me, anyways - it’s just, I know Doc gets a little embarrassed to eat in front of other people like that, but I’ve definitely seen him unhinge his jaw and eat a whole raw salmon, so -”

“Cooked is - fine,” Sam manages to cut him off. “I’m used to it.”

“Oh,” Bdubs says, and if he sounds a little disappointed, Sam doesn’t dwell on it.

Still, the fish, when Bdubs carries it over, is - really good. It’s the first hot food he’s had in longer than he likes to think about, grease still sizzling on the pan, and the bread to mop up the juices is fresh and still-warm.

He - enjoys it more than he should, maybe, because by the time he’s done, Bdubs is watching him with a little flicker of smile on his lips that is a little too soft.

“Thanks,” he manages, anyways, pushing the plate back. “Really, I - appreciate it. I…”

He trails off, not quite sure what to say, but Bdubs doesn’t seem to mind.

“I was thinking of doing some gardening today, if you’d like to help,” he says, instead. “Or - I get it if you want to sleep some more, you still look pretty exhausted. I could get you another potion, too, and check on your burns?”

“I - yeah, that’d be great,” he says, and considers the other man’s options as Bdubs nods, and heads back down the hall.

He - could stay. Build goodwill with the mossy player, and hope that he’s willing to put himself between Sam and - Xisuma, and the other creeper hybrid, and the player Sam killed - twice, now -

Or he could go.

As comfortable as Bdubs seems around him, as safe as he seems confident his base is - Sam, ultimately, needs to get off of the server. And - he’s felt the wrath of an Admin scorned, before, even if Bdubs hasn’t.

It’s not fair of him to ask the other player to take that kind of risk for him -

So he gives a sheepish smile when Bdubs returns, potion already fizzing with bonemeal.

“Where is your garden, exactly?” he asks. “I didn’t see it on my way over, last night -”

“Oh, I don’t keep it on the ground,” Bdubs tells him. “Here - drink that, and I can show you around, a little, maybe? I’ve got a whole greenhouse, on the roof. There’s just not enough sunlight on the forest floor, and I didn’t want to clear the trees -”

“That’d be great.” And Sam smiles at him again as he downs the potion, letting the foul taste cover up his discomfort as he lies. “Just a little one, though, and then - I think I will lie down, if that’s okay with you? I’m still pretty tired.”

“Of course!” The other player doesn’t seem to register his deceit. “Here - I’ll just take you for a quick walk around the canopy, and then we can find you some a little less basementy to stay -”

Which - isn’t ideal.

“Actually, could I -” he hesitates, because there’s no good reason for him to ask to live in the man’s basement, but - “I don’t really like heights,” he finally continues. “I mean, it’s not bad when I’m awake, but sleeping up high - maybe I could stay down there? At least until this afternoon, and then we could figure something else out for tonight?”

“Yeah, sure!” Bdubs agrees, without even a flicker of suspicion. “I can grab you an extra blanket or two, too. But - here, if you’ve got the energy to take a walk around? I won’t be offended if you just want to get back downstairs -”

“No, no -” Sam says, without hesitation. “I - you really do have a beautiful build. I’d love to see it.”

“Then - follow me!”

-----

He’s - slower than he’d like to be, climbing up the staircase that winds between the giant tree’s boughs and spirals around the trunk. It’s mercifully shallow, at least, with wide, flat viewing platforms - and if he pauses a little longer than is really needed, scanning the surrounding landscape, mapping the distances and directions in his head, Bdubs doesn’t seem to notice.

The build really is impressive. Moreso, seen from above, as they climb above the leaves - the canopy, such a looming shadow from below, is brilliant green and soft in the late morning light. It breaks open onto a dome of glass - one that towers over them, vaster than half the builds in L’manburg, and glinting with the sun.

Below it are fields, delicately automated, of wheat, carrots, potatoes - an elegant sugarcane farm, humming with redstone, that Sam just sits and watches, for a moment, the clean mechanism transfixing him as it trims the top of the canes. Bdubs, noticing his interest, ables over and grins.

“You like redstone?” he asks, and when Sam nods - “Doc, too - he set up this whole thing for me. I’m - a little hopeless with it, honestly. More of a builder.”

“That’s fine,” Sam says. “I mean - you’ve done a beautiful job, up here. This is incredible.”

Bdubs makes a little delighted sound, and reaches out to grab one of the canes. “I - yeah,” he says, eyes bright. “It’s pretty great. Uh - over here, I’m going to be putting in a water farm -”

Sam follows along behind him as he outlines his plans - the space laid out for animals, the little hut set up for a farmer-testificate, the redstone sorter apparently also set up by Doc -

And he is, genuinely, flagging by the time Bdubs seems to notice his exhaustion.

“Oh -” the smaller player says, and reaches for his arm. “Right - you need sleep -”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, almost - hesitant, to leave the beautiful garden. But he lets the thought slip. “Can you help me back down?”

The trip back down the stairs is - easier, at least. Rather than a bubble elevator, there’s a slime block at the bottom of a fallshaft, and it only hurts a lot, landing at the bottom.

Bdubs is there to help him scramble to his feet, though, and helps him limp back down the stairs to the bed in the storage room. He lets Sam slump into it, and then - just leaves.

And as he goes, Sam sinks back against the soft mattress, and the pillows, and the wall, and - debates staying. Because - he’s tired, and he still aches all over, and -

And he’s tired of running. He’s tired of being hunted, and he could just - stay here, for a while. Sleep, and recover for as long as Bdubs is willing to let him, and throw himself on the eventual mercy of the server’s admin, and -

It sounds like peace.

It sounds like death.

Sam isn’t sure that the two aren’t inextricably linked, and - and he has no intention of dying. Not yet - not that easily. Not without a fight, and surrender would be easy, but -

He waits until Bdubs has had plenty of time to head back upstairs, and hauls himself back up to his feet. Shuffling over to the chests aches, but he finds the strength for it, and pries the first one open -

He takes all of the potions. The bonemeal, too - and swigs one as he picks through the rest of the chest’s contents. There are - apples, and he takes those. A fresh diamond pick. Half a stack of diamonds, and he debates trying to craft armor, but - easier to carry them uncrafted, and the enchantments on the existing gear probably outweigh the benefits of better base materials.

His hands are trembling with exhaustion as he forces open the next chest, mind scrambling for focus. Because he needs - wool, probably. Meat, if he can find it, and logs, iron - all of the things that slow him down when he needs to keep moving - because even clear of the server, he’ll have lost time to Dream -

The chests aren’t labeled, but they are, at least, neat - and the potion steadies his hand a little as he crafts a few stacks of coal into more compact blocks, his magic sparking around his fingers as he does. And then -

He could turn back. Even with a bag full of stolen materials - Bdubs has been nothing but kind, and there’s a chance that he won’t - won’t turn on him just for the attempt -

But Sam has had enough of being at the mercy of other people’s kindness. He’s - he’s seen enough of where that’s gotten him -

He shoves the coal into his bag, and steadies himself, and pops a block of log up under the trapdoor so he can scramble out. Hauling himself up makes his whole upper body strain, the pain in his side burning as he doubles over the edge of the hole -

And smells redstone. And a voice goes, “Uh -”

And then a foot lands on the small of his back, pinning him against the dirt with the whole weight of a player, and there’s the distinctive rack of a crossbow.

“Don’t move,” says a voice that Sam - recognizes, because they’ve just recently begged him for their life -

And he slumps, defeated at the last moment, halfway to freedom, with Mumbo’s crossbow pointed at his back.

-----

To be fair, the player seems - as suprised as he is. Suprised, and a lot unprepared - if Sam wasn’t fucking exhausted, he’d dare the fight, even with the crossbow, but he can hardly find the strength to drag himself up even without the foot on his back.

“What are you -” they ask, and then hesitate for a moment before starting again, their voice steeled. “Uh - What are you doing, breaking into Bdubs’ house?”

Sam - doesn’t know what to say, exactly, so -

“I’m breaking out of Bdubs’ house,” he says, like it matters. And to be fair, it seems to catch the other player off-guard - they hesitate for a moment before recovering their composture.

“You’re stealing his stuff!” they say, and - yeah, he is. He - doesn’t have a good defense for that, and the only things that might even partially excuse him would just implicate the other player for helping him, and wouldn’t earn him any kind of mercy from the man with the crossbow pointed at his back -

“Yeah,” he agrees, instead.

“I’m -” There’s a moment of hesitation in the player’s voice as he scrambles for his comm, but it only takes one hand to pull the trigger, and Sam stays still anyways. “I’m comming Bdubs!”

It takes a moment for what he’s said to register -

And then there’s a shout from above.

“Don’t comm Xi!”

The shout makes the other player jerk, above him - and there’s a second where Sam feels almost relieved -

And then Bdubs smacks into the ground next to him and dies on impact.

The player above him makes a startled noise - but there’s hardly enough time to register the death before a window is being shoved open on the tree trunk above them.

“Don’t call Xi!” Bdubs shouts, again. “One second - I forgot I wasn’t wearing my elytra - I’ll be right down! Don’t shoot Sam, either!”

Above him, the player shifts awkwardly, and Sam braces -

“Okay!” they shout up to Bdubs. “Hurry up -”

Bdubs has already, apparently, ducked back into the tree, because there’s no reply until a door bursts open somewhere overhead a moment later.

“This isn’t what it looks like - Mumbo, you’re squishing him!”

“I - yeah,” says Mumbo. “He impaled me on a trident. And cut my throat -”

“He’s not going to hurt you again,” says Bdubs. “Right, Sam?”

He - lets out a grunt, rather than answering, and Mumbo makes a little noise of concern -

But adrenaline has given him strength. The moment Mumbo’s foot is off of him, he rolls - the player yelps, as they’re thrown off-balance, and the crossbow flies out of their hand as they tumble down the roots of the tree -

Sam’s trident is in his hand as he drags himself to his feet against the tree’s stump. He’s - he’s barely standing, but at least he has a weapon.

Mumbo sprawls on the grass below him, eyes wide, and Bdubs makes a panicked little noise -

“I’m going,” he says, like he’s got any kind of control over the situation. Like he’s in charge, despite being barely on his feet, and it’s a credit to the other two player’s mercy that they haven’t burst out laughing at him. “I just - I don’t want to hurt anyone. Just - let me go, and I won’t hurt you -”

He keeps his gaze on Mumbo, because he’s not sure he could <>bear to look at Bdubs -

But Mumbo doesn’t move. Doesn’t - reach for his comms, or his weapon. He doesn’t look - afraid, exactly, just - uneasy, his own gaze flicking to Bdubs like he’s looking for guidance.

It’s Bdubs who speaks, anyways. “Sam.” His voice is - ginger, like he’s worried that a missaid word will set Sam off. “Can you - no one wants to hurt you, Sam. Can you put the trident down?”

“I’m going,” he repeats, again. “Just - let me go.”

And he tries to step away -

But the bark of the tree is wet, and slicker than he was expecting, and he’s still sick. The world pitches, and heaves, and he’s half-way down the slippery roots before he manages to catch himself and stop.

He’s off-balance. Barely on his feet, and Mumbo has used the chance to get to his, and he’s put a shield between himself and Sam that means that there’s no way Sam is getting the kill before the other player can react -

The Admin… hasn’t teleported in on top of him yet, though. And even as he considers that, Mumbo glances at Bdubs.

“You still don’t want me comming X?” he says, and Bdubs shakes his head.

“He’s just -” Bdubs hesitates. “He’s sick. He’s - it’s okay, Sam. Just - calm down. I told you, I’m not going to let anything happen to you, just - don’t try to hurt Mumbo, okay? He didn’t know that you weren’t a threat.”

“Yeah,” Mumbo exhoes, unconvincingly. “Look -”

He reaches out with one long leg and kicks the crossbow -

Which snaps to fire off the charged shot, the bolt embedding itself uselessly in a tree. They all flinch at that, no one more than Mumbo himself, who lets out a startled squawk.

And it’s not like it makes him more or less dangerous, is the thing. The weapon - it can only kill him, and even that is only dangerous if he respawn into the clutches of the Admin, because otherwise, he’ll just be dead. It’s not like either of the players couldn’t do far worse with a flicker of their comms - not like the Admin wouldn’t be there in a moment, if they revealed that they had him cornered -

It’s not like he’s outrunning them, and - slowly - he lets the tip of his trident drop, and his free hand come up in surrender.

“Just -”

He tries to back away down the roots, a little more, in the vain hope that they do decide to just - let him run -

And his foot skids out from beneath him, again. This time, there’s no catching himself, even as he drops the trident - his foot is scating on algae, and even as he claws for something to hold onto, he slams down into the dense wood and sprawls, all the air forced out of his lungs.

There’s a yell - Bdubs, he’s pretty sure - and he tries to shove himself upright, but -

Warm hands grab one of his shoulders, haul him up, a little, and it’s Mumbo’s face that he’s looking into, not Bdubs’. Then Bdubs is on his other side, helping him up, and his ankle is burning like he’s twisted it at least.

He hisses in pain, and Mumbo makes a panicky sound like he’s holding a live bomb, but doesn’t let him fall -

“It’s okay,” Bdubs murmurs, voice soft. “It’s - oh, Sam, it’s okay. Just - here, let’s get you back inside -”

“I’ve got him,” Mumbo says, voice - distant - and Sam sags into his arms and does his best to limp along as the pair start to half-drag and half-carry him back up towards the door.

Chapter Text

He’s bundled back up to the upper floors of the tree, half-carried by Mumbo, who at least seems to be more solidly-built than Bdubs, and lowered into a comfortable, oversized chair.

Bdubs - the shorter player keeps flashing him little glances as he messes around the kitchen. Worried glances, maybe - although Sam can’t tell if they’re for him or about him.

Not that it matters, really. The pair have made it - clear - that they don’t intend to let him escape into the woods, and Sam doubts he’d have the strength to get far, anyways. The world is swaying under him, the pitch making him nauseous -

And Mumbo is watching him, gaze intent, from the other chair. He - isn’t saying anything, and Sam doesn’t know if that’s in sympathy for how poor he looks, or because the other player just prefers to observe people -

And then Mumbo leans forwards, arm outstretched, and Sam just - shuts his eyes.

The hand that presses to his forehead is gentle, though, and cool against his overheated skin, and Mumbo leans into the relief of the touch even as Mumbo pulls his hand away. “Bdubs -” Mumbo calls, voice low, and even that makes his head pound, a bit - “He’s really hot.”

“Creepers are jungle plants, right? I think they just run hot,” Bdubs answers back, but he walks over, and his touch is just as cool. “Oh, but that’s - yeah, that’s a lot hotter than he was last night.”

He doesn’t pull his hand away as quickly, and Sam sags against it. “I think you’ve got a fever,” Bdubs informs him, as if he hadn’t realized, and Sam nods into the touch.

“That’s -” Mumbo hesitates. “Not great.”

“Here -” Bdubs’ hand vanishes, and Sam gives an involuntary grumble of disappointment - but the cool washcloth that replaces it a moment later is better, and he can’t find the energy to protest when Mumbo tips his head forwards to put another behind his neck -

Even if the human does pet his leaves a little. Sam lets out a warning hiss, but there’s no venom behind it, and it does feel nice...

He lets himself go completely slack into the touch as the human’s fingers pluck away a leaf that’s gone too yellowed to be useful, and they laugh.

“He’s really out of it, huh?”

The other one, who’s gone - somewhere - gives a disapproving chur. “I don’t know if he likes that, Mumbo -”

That’s fair, because Sam isn’t sure if he likes it, either - he lets out another little hiss, though, and the hands don’t even falter. They tug away another leaf, and he - he could make them stop, but -

“He’s got to be exhausted,” the human pruning him murmurs, like he’s not supposed to be able to hear it. “Doc would be snapping my fingers off, if I was messing around with his leaves like this -”

“Then don’t do it?” says the other one, a little too loud, but all of the leaves that the human has pulled off so far have been yellowed - the sort of dead leaves that need to come away, once they’re using more energy than they’re producing. So - so it’s fine, maybe?

“Sh - he’s half asleep.” The human tugs another leaf free, letting it drop into the little pile on the floor. “Let me work while he’s playing along - pinning Doc down to do this is a chore and a half, and he really needs to get most of these out. He doesn’t mind - do you?”

Sam - could argue, maybe. The other human - the mossy one - would probably even make them stop, if he did -

But the human pruning him is being gentle, and - it’s nice. He lets out a little warble of approval, and they laugh, above him, and start to carefully sort the little yellowed leaves out of the ruff around his neck -

And after a moment, there’s the scrape of - something, and a second pair of hands join in. And the cool towel over his forehead gets replaced as it warms, only this time, it covers his eyes, and makes the whole world cool and wet and dark -

Someone distant says something, and another person laughs, and that’s the last thing Sam bothers to think about until the darkness swallows him up.

-----

“Here -” says a voice, pressing a cup of something cool to his lips, and Sam drinks greedily.

It’s - just water, he thinks. But it’s cold, and that’s enough to drive back some of the fever-haze, and -

- and he does feel better, a bit. Better-rested, at least, and there’s a soreness in his vines that is just gone -

There’s a little pile of leaves swept up in one corner, brown and sad in the dim evening light, and he’s pretty sure he knows why. It’s embarrassing, but he glances up at Mumbo, then ducks his head. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” the player tells him, with a grin, and offers him the cup. It - trembles, as he takes it, but he manages to lift it to his lips again and drink deeply before passing the empty cup back.

He feels - worn. Not just exhausted - there’s a tiredness hanging from his limbs, turning them heavy and clumsy, and he rubs his fingers against each other, trying to force the feeling back. His head isn’t pounding so much as thumping, a vague rhythm like an echo of his heartbeat in his head that is uncomfortable, but at least not overwhelming.

“You slept for a while,” Bdubs says, from the table, and Sam looks over -

Oh.

Bdubs is - digging through Sam’s bag, curiously, and Sam might be indignant at the invasion of his privacy if half of the stuff in his bag didn’t belong to the other man.

Like the wool that he’s squishing between his fingers.

Guilt curdles in Sam’s chest, or maybe it’s shame, because Bdubs has been -

Has been nothing but kind to him. Generous. And he’s just -

“I’m sorry,” he manages to choke out, and his eyes are stinging.

But Bdubs looks over, and looks - confused.

“Huh?” He looks down at the wool in his hands, and it seems to take a moment to register - “Oh - you think I’m mad about -” He gestures with it, and Sam can’t help the flinch, even though it makes the whole world pitch and heave around him.

“I’m sorry,” he echoes again, and Mumbo laughs from where he’s wandered over to refill the cup.

“Don’t be,” Bdubs says, and his voice is - scolding, but none of the heat in it feels like it’s meant for Sam. “It’s fine! You barely took anything -”

And Mumbo cackles.

“I was on my way over to clear him out of redstone when I caught you,” he says, and there’s a toothiness to the words as he offers Sam the filled glass. Sam takes it, and his grip is a little less shaky than before - but Mumbo stays close, anyways, like he’s going to catch the cup if it falls. “What’s a little light robbery between friends?”

“Burglary,” Sam says almost automatically, and Mumbo gives him a confused look.

“Huh?”

“It’s burglary, if you’re just entering without permission to take something.” He realizes even as he says it that noone else cares, but - “Robbery means that you hurt someone, or threaten to - it’s…”

He trails off, but Mumbo doesn’t look annoyed at being corrected. “Huh,” he says, instead. “Well - the point stands. A little mild burglary between friends, the free exchange of resources -”

“He can have the redstone,” Bdubs says, with a little, snorting laugh. “I’m not going to use it. He’ll probably use half of it when he comes over to automate my cow farm, anyways -”

“When I what?” Mumbo asks, and Bdubs grins at him.

“Well - I can’t exactly have Doc do it, can I?” He gestures at Sam, who can’t help the vaguely self-conscious twist in his chest. “But you know how to make a cow farm, right? One of the flippy-switch ones, with the water?”

“I - yeah, but -” Mumbo starts, and Sam - shifts, a little, because -

“I could make it,” he offers, quietly. “If you want, I mean - I know how to -”

“You can stay right there, for a bit,” Mumbo says, with a snort, and his hand presses to Sam’s forehead again. He hates how perfectly cool the touch is. “You’re still running a fever - the last thing we need is you going out and trying to wire up redstone.”

“It’s not hard,” Sam protests. “I owe you, anyways -”

“Hey,” Mumbo says, and shares a look with Bdubs that Sam isn’t entirely sure he likes. “You don’t owe me anything -”

“I killed you,” Sam says, because - “Twice.”

And then it’s out in the open, and he flinches back again, because - because he’s killed the man, twice, and tried to kill Bdubs, and they’re both being so kind -

But Mumbo - laughs.

“Iskall’s killed me a dozen times this week,” he says, waving a hand. “We’re working on a mob farm, and getting the entity cramming tuned right is brutal.”

And - oh.

Because Sam has - has heard of servers with unlimited lives, before, of course. Servers where the Admin lets their power flow through their players like water, where life is a constant, rather than an ephemeral thing to lose.

He’s met players from servers like that, once or twice, and the same fearlessness in their bearing is matched in Mumbo’s confusion.

“You -” Bdubs starts, and - hesitates, and Mumbo glances back at him, and his eyes - widen, as he realizes.

“Oh,” he says, like something is just clicking for him - and there’s a guardedness to the word that makes sense - “You thought you were actually killing me?”

Sam doesn’t meet his gaze.

“We don’t die like that, here,” Bdubs says, after another moment of awkward silence. “You won’t, either, not as long as you’re on the server - Xisuma wouldn’t let that happen.”

He sounds certain, and Sam -

- Sam is too tired to laugh.

“Either way,” he says, instead. “I still owe you. You for the murder, and -” he waves at Bdubs, “you for the stuff I was trying to steal. When I’m better -” and hopefully it won’t be long - “I can make your farms for you.”

The pair share another look, and then Bdubs gives a little noise of agreement as Mumbo reaches down to replace the cloth on the back of his neck. “When you’re feeling better - yeah.”

It’s not the eagerness he might’ve hoped for, but - it’s a start, and Sam lets himself have that little victory as he slumps back and lets the coolness on the back of his neck sap away some of his ache.

-----

“No sign of him?” Doc asks, not really expecting an affirmative, and Xisuma snorts.

“He hasn’t left the server.” The admin flickers his fingers, and a shimmering, translucent-blue screen appears on the air before him. It’s only half-readable to Doc, inverted through the air, but he recognizes the scroll of names - death messages. Iskall, crammed to death by entities. Pearl, torn apart by her skeleton-farm-in-progress. Bdubs, fallen out of his tree again. “He hasn’t died, which - good for him, I guess, but…”

But it leaves them no closer to finding their interloper than they were before.

Not that there’s a huge rush, really. It’s been a day and a half, and they haven’t seen hide nor hair of the foreign player - but he hasn’t hurt anyone, either, and Doc can see Xisuma settling with every passing hour.

Now, with the sun sinking low…

“I could go out and look for a bed,” he suggests, even knowing that Xisuma will refuse him. “Or just run around for a bit, see if I can bait him out -”

“It’s fine,” Xisuma says, and shakes his head. “He’s - not causing any trouble, at the moment.”

His fingers flicker over the console for another breath, and then his shoulders sag. “Besides - he’ll have moved his spawn. I doubt we’re catching him until he dies, and I’d rather not send you out to wander around alone.”

“I’ve got the best chance of killing him -” Doc starts, but Xisuma meets his gaze, and there’s an edge to the look that silences him.

“He’s already proven more than willing to use a hostage, Doc.” The admin’s fingers are still, hovering in the air, and his voice is firm. “He - when he was trying to negotiate, he made it pretty clear that his priority is getting off the server. If he’s decided to leave you guys alone, he’s smart - I’m not going to do anything that’s going to provoke him.”

And then the gaze flicks back down to the console. “Either someone will run into him again, or something will kill him eventually, and I’ll kick him. I don’t like it, but - that’ll be that.”

“Sure,” Doc agrees, and casts one more glance out the window at the streaks of dying violet and orange light before pacing over to his own chair.

He’s settled on it, halfway through sketching out a fresh design for a crawler, when Xisuma’s comm buzzes. It hardly even registers - his own comm is silent, so it’s got to be a DM - until the admin pulls out his own comm, glances on it, and goes perfectly, perfectly still.

“Xisuma?” he asks, shifting, half expecting anger if the invader has killed someone again, but his comm would have pinged him a death message, surely -

The admin glances up at him, wordless, and gestures, and Doc gets to his feet, reading the message over the admin’s shoulder as Xisuma keys in his response.

[StressMonster101] >whisper<: Hey X

[StressMonster101] >whisper<: i need you to /tpa me

[StressMonster101] >whisper<: there’s a guy here who just walked out of the forest

[StressMonster101] >whisper<: He wants to talk to you

[StressMonster101] >whisper<: i don’t think it’s the guy who killed mumbo he’s just a human in a mask

[StressMonster101] >whisper<: unless mumbo is way worse at telling whats a creeper hybrid than we thought

[Xisumavoid] >whisper<: omw don’t let him run off

“A second -” Doc manages to start, but Xisuma reaches out, and wraps his fingers around his wrist.

“Close your eyes,” he says, and that’s all the warning Doc has to brace into the dizzying shift as the world around him dissolves into shattered light.

Chapter Text

They reappear in a swirl of purple light, sparks skittering across Xisuma’s skin and arcing between their hands as Doc staggers. The jump is - disorienting, they always are, hauled through the nothing by someone else’s power - but the sting of energy dissipating through his skin isn’t unpleasant.

It might be, if he wasn’t a creeper, but he’s never been sure the others experience Xisuma’s power in quite the same way. Ethos, at least once, has described more of a static, redstone fizz -

But it doesn’t hurt, and he’s on his feet again after only momentary disorientation.

On his feet - at spawn, he registers. Xisuma is still - very still - beside him, and Stress is - kneeling, next to a man hunches over on a chest, dabbing at something on his arm that Doc can’t quite make out.

The moment they appear, though, the man is - scrambling.

Halfway to his feet - and then he seems to think better of it, and drops back down onto his knees as Stress tries to shove him back onto the chest. She’s hissing something, but the stranger hardly seems to register it -

Not that he’s easy to read, behind his admins’ mask - and the intruder clearly is an admin, if the way Xisuma has gone tense at his side is any indication. He goes to one knee, though, head bowing as Xisuma takes a wooden step forwards.

“Sir -” he starts, and there’s a waver in his voice that might be fear, or pain. “Honored Admin, I apologize for intruding on your server. That - it wasn’t my intention. I didn’t mean any offense.”

Xisuma stills, again, head tipping like he’s waiting for the other admin to go on -

“I - ah - my name is Dream -” they manage.

“Xisuma,” Xisuma offers, finally. “You’re hurt.”

At the intruder’s side, Stress makes an annoyed sound. “Yes, he is.” She reaches out, grabbing the intruder’s - Dream’s - hand, doing her level best to drag him back up onto the chest, and Doc takes a few steps forwards to help her -

He doesn’t miss the flinch as he approaches, the way the strange admin tries to duck back away from him, but he doesn’t particularly care, either. It’s easy enough to grab him and hold him in place so that Stress can get a good look at whatever she’s trying to look at, and then -

- and then he sees the injury she’s talking about, and lets out a low, creeper his that makes their intruder cringe.

There are burns all up the strange admin’s hands. Old ones, deep and rippled, like lava burns - except the way that they’ve healed makes it look like they’ve been broken, too, maybe more than once. There’s a faint tremor to his fingers, and Xisuma lets out a worried little noise.

“I - yeah,” the other admin answers, finally. “I’ve been - in the borderwilds for… a while.”

“Welcome to Hermitcraft,” Xisuma tells him in a way that doesn’t sound a hundred percent convincing - but it’s not the territorial snarl that Doc is used to. “Ah - what brings you here?”

“I’m looking for a player,” Dream tells him, voice - hesitant. “One who’s - run away from my server. I think he’s come here. The storm, yesterday - I was tracking him, and by the time you raised the border again, I’m pretty sure we were both inside.”

“You’re - tracking a player?” Xisuma’s voice is carefully flat.

“He’s dangerous,” Dream says, and something in his voice cracks on the word. “He’s - a threat to anyone he comes across. My server - I don’t have the power to give my players anything more than restricted respawns. It was supposed to be peaceful, but - he and some of the other players fomented a rebellion, they’ve been killing people -”

His hands shake, slightly, as Stress reaches for one, bandages in hand. He - tugs it away from her, though, holding them out for Xisuma, and Doc can’t help another hiss, because -

The skin is scarred with burns. All the way up the wrists, and trailing up under the loose green sleeves of his hoodie - like they’ve been burned with lava repeatedly, to the point where even magic isn’t enough to fix them properly.

It’s vicious damage, and Xisuma is silent, for a moment, but Doc can see the outrage in his gaze.

“This player - he’s a creeper hybrid?” he says, voice low, and Dream - jerks.

“You’ve seen Sam?” he asks, and his voice is stretched tight along the edge of panic. “You need to stay away from him -”

“He killed one of my players,” Xisuma tells him. “Twice.”

“He’s a liar -” Dream falters, as Xisuma’s words register. “Prime - I’m sorry -”

“It’s alright,” Xisuma tells him, voice softening. “We run infinite respawns, here. Mumbo is fine.”

“But you see why I’m looking for him -” the other admin says, desperately. “He’s dangerous - I couldn’t just leave him to wander between innocent servers -”

“Of course.” Xisuma steps forwards, and his hand is gentle as he reaches out to brush it against the other admin’s cheek. It’s - a careful gesture. It’s the most cautious Doc has ever seen him with another admin on his own server, and Dream doesn’t quite seem to know quite what to do with it -

But Xisuma steps back before he can panic. “Thank you for warning us, Dream. I - if you’d like, you’re welcome to remain on my server until we catch your renegade player.”

“I -” Dream’s voice catches. “Yes, please - we’ve got a prison set up for him, if we can catch him, a way to keep him from targeting anyone else -”

He waves a hand, like he wants to explain everything, all at once, but Xisuma reaches out and settles a hand on his shoulder, and he goes silent.

“We’ll have time to talk about that,” he says, voice warm. “But - right now, you need to get bandaged up. Stress -”

“I’ve got it, if you don’t mind me taking him - where?” she asks.

“My house, I think -” the Admin offers. “I’ll take both of you. Doc -”

Doc meets his Admin’s eyes, and Xisuma looks - worried. Not about Dream, but -

“You don’t mind hosting another meeting?” Xisuma asks, and Doc shakes his head.

“I’ll let everyone know to come by at - what, dusk?” he offers, glancing up at the midmorning sun. “You just - take care of him, don’t worry about it. We’ll all be there.

Xisuma nods, and Doc can see his eyes wrinkle, just slightly, with the edge of a smile -

Then he reaches out, and all three of them are gone in a fizz of lightning.

Doc flicks out the leading edge of his elytra, palms a rocket, and makes his way home alone.

-----

“Sam,” a voice calls to him, distantly, and Sam grumbles as he’s nudged back towards unwilling consciousness.

Curling up on the chair obviously hasn’t done him any favors - his back aches, but then, so does everything else. He drags himself upright, hissing in discomfort under his breath, but Bdubs doesn’t even flinch at the sound.

“Sleep well?” Mumbo asks, and holds out a wet towel in offer. “You’ve cooled down, a lot - how do you feel?”

“Awful,” Sam manages. “Just - sore -”

He leans his head forwards, and slumps as the cool towel replaces the thoroughly warmed one against his skin. “Ah -” The way that Mumbo brushes fingers fondly through his leaves is - a little overly familiar, maybe, but there’s no ill-intent in the touch, and Sam doesn’t bother trying to pull away.

“Maybe when we get home, we can see about getting you a cool bath,” Bdubs says. “I - no offense, I’m not sure I’d want to leave you alone in one -”

“No,” Sam agrees, pulling himself up a little more. “Probably best not to soak myself for a day or two, anyways.”

And then Bdub’s words register. “When you get home?” he asks, suddenly on edge. “Are you…?”

“Xisuma called a meeting. We’ve got to head over to Doc’s house for a bit,” Mumbo tells him, and Sam nods.

“About me,” he says, and it’s not really a question.

Mumbo - shrugs. “Probably,” he agrees, and Sam can’t help the little frission of worry -

Worry that Bdubs, apparently, can read like a book, because he smiles fondly at Sam and reaches out to pat his hand. “It’s - probably nothing serious,” Bdubs tells him, voice gentle. “We talked - neither of us are going to tell Xisuma you’re here, okay? Or - if we decide we do need to - one of us will at least come back and tell you first, alright?”

It’s - more than would be reasonable to ask of them, and Sam nods, ignoring the flicker of dread in his stomach.

“We should move you out of the living room, though,” Mumbo says, before he can think of anything to say. “I mean - we’ll probably be back by sunset, but with this kind of thing - you never know. Sometimes they run long, and we won’t have any good excuse to leave early without making the other hermits suspicious.”

“You - think they’ll suspect you?” Sam manages. “Of hiding me?”

“I doubt it,” Bdubs snorts, waving a hand dismissively. “But - we’re a nosey bunch, and someone’s always planning a prank. The last thing we need is someone like Doc deciding to come take a poke around.”

“I - yeah,” Sam breathes out, because he can agree that the other creeper is the last person he wants to run into while defenseless, recovering, and still covered in burns from their last encounter. “So I need to hide -”

“Well, no,” Mumbo interjects, pushing him back against the seat as he struggles to rise. “Sam - relax. We’re not worried about someone finding you - we just need to make sure we’ve got you set up somewhere comfortable enough to stay the night. Like a bed.”

“Oh.” Sam lets some of the tension bleed away, and allows Mumbo to keep him down. “...Thank you.”

“I’ve got a couple rooms tucked away for guests,” Bdubs tells him. “Most of us do - even with elytra, it’s a long trip from one side of the server to the other, and it’s usually not worth going back and forth. Or -”

He hesitates, then forges ahead. “I mean - if you are more comfortable downstairs, I can clear something out,” he offers. “I wasn’t sure if that was what you really prefer, or…”

He trails off, and Sam can’t meet his gaze, guilt curdling in his gut. “Yeah, it -” He lets out a heavy breath. “Whatever’s easiest for you - I don’t mind heights.”

“The guest room around the corner, then?” Mumbo suggests. “I can take the one across the hall, if that’s alright with you, Bdubs - make it into something a little more permanent, if I’m going to be over here more -”

“Of course!” Bdubs relaxes, a little, at having the decision made. “Here - let’s get you up -”

The pair are painstakingly careful, helping him to his feet, and Mumbo doesn’t seem to mind having to support him as he makes his way down the hall and into -

It’s a really nice bedroom.

Nothing too challenging, crafting-wise, but there’s a care and a carefulness and an eye for aesthetic to the furnishings that Sam has never really mastered. A little desk for drafting - a bed - a crafting bench, and a redstone lever that looks like it’s tucking away a bank of furnaces behind a comfortable-looking couch. A window - one that looks out, from what he can see, onto branches, rather than a view, but Sam is in hiding so that’s honestly what he’d prefer. A plush, patterned rug that looks like entirely too much trouble to make -

It’s nicer than most of the places he’s lived. It’s nicer than most of the homes he’s built for himself, and it’s definitely nicer than his bedroom at the Prison, and Sam can’t help the awkward chuckle as he’s lowered down onto the bedside.

“This is your idea of a guest room?” he says, to Bdubs’ curious look, and the shorter player laughs.

“I mean - I tried to make it comfortable,” he says, as if that explains the sheer effort that must have gone into the build. “But - well, I was making like a half-dozen rooms, so they’re all pretty identical.”

“He’s too modest,” Mumbo says with a grin. “Bdubs is great with all that fiddly little stuff - my guest bedrooms have a bed, a chest, and a crafting table, and if you’re very lucky, Cleo or someone will have stayed there, snapped, and put down a carpet.”

“It’s great,” Sam says, as Bdubs blushes and ducks his head under his cape. “Really -”

“It’s fine!” Bdubs manages, voice a little shrill. “Look - water bottles -”

He slaps a stack of the glass bottles down on top of the bedside table, and Sam reaches out to tuck them into inventory.

“Let me put together a chest, actually -” Mumbo says, and tosses one down within arm’s reach of the bed. “Here - we’ve got some health potions, some bone meal, a couple of restoration potions - be careful with those, right, the ghast tears won’t do anything but make your fever worse if you’re already sick, but you can take them if it breaks -”

“And - here.” Bdubs passes him his bag, as Sam continues to half-listen to Mumbo rattle on about potions.

He checks it - almost automatically, as he slips it over his shoulder and out of sight - and - freezes, fingers going suddenly still around the soft leather, because -

“Oh,” he says, glancing up at Bdubs. “You didn’t -”

Take back his things. The bag is still full of stolen goods, less the piece of wool that’s shredded across the kitchen table -

More full, actually. The diamonds have been replaced with blocks, and there’s a whole stack of trade emeralds in with them. There are - gapples, glinting up at him from a slot he knows he didn’t fill, and even his gear -

His armor is all there, present and correct and repaired. His pick - his own, diamond pick, the one that he’d half-ruined even before having to flee the server - has been mended, the head reshaped and restored until it’s as keen as new. Even his axe has a fresh edge, and as he draws it out of nothingness and runs his thumb across the curve, Bdubs shifts awkwardly -

And then seems to find what he wants to say, settling on the edge of the bed next to Sam as he tucks the tool back into nothingness.

“I - really do think you should stay here, Sam,” he starts, voice careful, like he’s worried one wrong word will make Sam run again. “You’re - sick, and I think you’re just making yourself sicker - you’re in no shape to be running around the woods.”

It stings, but - it’s true, and Sam drops his gaze and nods.

“But -” And Bdub’s hand reaches out to settle on his wrist gently. “I know that might be - hard for you. And I don’t want - I don’t want you to feel like you have to choose between leaving with nothing and staying in a trap, or - or to need to run and not have anything on you -”

He gestures at the bag. “I don’t mind. Really - we share our stuff all the time, on Hermitcraft, if I need any of that stuff I can get more off of Ethos or Doc or somebody - but you’ll need it, if you do have to leave the server before you’re ready -”

And Sam -

Sam doesn’t know what to say, to that.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, instead of something worth the gift he’s just been given - but Bdubs doesn’t seem to mind.

“You know how to get out of here, if you need to,” he says, instead. “You can take the slime dropper down, and then - there actually is a little path to the border, if you head north - left, out the main door. It’s pretty well lit up, but I don’t think anyone but me really thinks about it being there - it’s probably the safest way to travel.”

He hesitates, but - “If you do have to go - I’ll keep your bed here, unless you decide to break it. I don’t know how it’ll work if you leave the server, but - Xisuma’s usually pretty free with his magic. If something does happen -”

There’s no guarantee he’ll respawn, here, but - it’s a chance, at least. It’s better than his last active spawn being the DSMP, and Sam nods, helpless in the face of Bdub’s generosity -

“If Xisuma does show up -” Mumbo hesitates, but - “He’s not going to, but if he does - just - talk to him, maybe? Without all the weapons. He’s a - a nice guy, really. A good Admin. The worst he’s going to do is toss you off the server, and I’ll - I’ll talk to him about it, if it comes down to that. He won’t hurt you.”

The thought of getting caught by the Admin is - Sam shoves it out of his head, but he nods, anyways. “I’ll - yeah,” he agrees, and Mumbo looks relieved. “Okay.”

“We should be back tonight, but if not -” Mumbo gestures to the chest. “Potions, like I said. Water, some food - you should be fine to spend the night without having to wander too far -”

“If you get into real trouble, our comm codes are in there, too,” Bdubs adds. “Uh - I don’t know if Xisuma will notice you joining our network, but - just, if something happens, or if you get sicker -”

“I’ll try,” he assures him. “I’ll - Thank you.”

The pair are - silent, for a moment.

“Really, both of you - thank you,” he echoes again. “I’m - it’s been… rough, since leaving my server. This - means a lot to me.”

It’s more genuine kindness than he’s had since - since long before leaving the server, honestly. And - and he hasn’t done anything to deserve it -

But Mumbo just gives him a little smile, and reaches out to pull Bdubs to his feet. “We really should be going,” he offers. “I mean - Xi’s not going to care if we’re a little late, but it’s already almost dusk - Sam, do you want a book, or something? I could put on some music, give me a sec -”

“Music would be nice,” he agrees, faintly, because he’s probably too tired to get far, with a book. He lets himself sprawl back onto the bed, and Bdubs helps get the blanket over him as Mumbo pulls out a jukebox -

The disc he picks isn’t one that Sam recognizes, but - it’s nice. Something quiet, and melodic, and he curls up in the blankets as Bdubs smooths his hair one final time, fingers scratching soothingly at his scalp.

“We’ll be back soon,” the human assures him - and then the touch is gone.

He - lets himself sink into the music, a little. Curled around a bag full of unearned generosity, under warm, dry sheets, with the worst of the withering pruned out of his leaves, he’s - comfortable, even if his whole body is still sore and shaking with the fever -

When he finally sinks into sleep, it’s - deep. Spawn-setting slumber, not just the exhausted dozing from the chair, and - it feels good.

Above him, the leaves of the tree sway, creaking with the wind, and he doesn’t have to think about anything, for a while.

-----

“You guys are - late,” Doc says, as Bdubs and Mumbo walk into his castle together. It’s - an unusual pair, to show up with each other - he’s not sure he’s seen them together all season.

“Yeah - uh, sorry!” And they’re definitely planning something. Bdubs isn’t meeting his eyes, and Mumbo has the confident look he gets when he’s trying to cover something up. “We were just - busy -”

“I mean - Xisuma’s still got a couple things he’s trying to figure out, I think, it’s no big deal, just - I’d have expected you sooner, living so close, Bdubs.” His gaze shifts to Mumbo. “And you’re coming from the entirely opposite direction, aren’t you? I thought your base was over on the mainland, this season - you’ve been spending a lot of time in the jungle, huh?”

It’s the thinnest hair away from an open accusation, and something a little mean in him purrs in satisfaction as Bdubs shoots him a look that’s only a stone’s throw away from panic -

Mumbo, though, is just as salmon-smooth as ever. He grins, and claps Bdubs on the back. “Just - working on some stuff, you know. You’re not the only game in town for redstone, right?”

“He was breaking into my house -” Bdubs protests, looking indignant. “Looting my chests -”

“I’m making him a cow bubbler,” Mumbo clarifies, grin not even flickering. “Just some autofarms, Doc. Nothing to worry about.”

The fact that he’s said that makes Doc more worried than anything else, honestly -

“Just leave me out of it,” he says, finally, with a little flicker of his own laugh. “Or I’m going to start launching creepers through your windows, Bdubs. Please. Keep him on a leash.”

“Don’t worry about it -” Mumbo protests, but Bdubs gives him a toothy nod from inside his wooly cloak.

“Sure.”

They follow him down the hall towards the living room, and he can almost taste the curiosity. It’s Mumbo who cracks first.

“So -” he starts, drawing the word out into a drawl. “What does X want us for, exactly?”

“We’ve had some - interesting new information about our invader,” Sam tells them bluntly. “His admin showed up, looking to collect them. Apparently, you’re not the first innocent guy whose throat he’s cut.” He can hear Mumbo’s steps falter behind him, and - softens, a little, because maybe that was a little too blunt. “He was - destructive on his own server, too, and ran off when he found out that the admin wasn’t going to put up with it anymore.”

“Oh.” Mumbo’s voice - cracks, and yeah, Doc feels guilty, now. “So his admin wants to - what?”

“Bring him back for some kind of trial, apparently.” He’s not a hundred percent clear on the details. “Apparently, they’ve got some kind of prison set up - Dream said something about making him face the people he’s hurt, and serve out his sentence in there. It’s a limited-lives server, so I think they’re taking stuff a little more seriously than we might, but the Admin seems like a decent enough guy - he and Xisuma are getting on, at least -”

To an almost surprising degree, if he’s honest with himself. Because there are territorial Admins, and then there’s Xisuma - and the Admin has never enjoyed playing with others.

But -

Doc isn’t sure if it’s the sorry state of the younger admin, or his obvious shyness, or just the fact that he looks like Xisuma could crush him like a bug, if he had to, but the Admin doesn’t seem to mind the other’s presence as much as usual.

They shove through the door to where the rest of the server are waiting, sprawled across the tops, and backs, and arms of Doc’s seating, and Xisuma glances up, eyes flickering with light as they settle on Mumbo and Bdubs. He straightens - Dream is seated, neatly, at his side, posture looking intimidated in a way that Doc’s rarely seen an Admin - and smiles at them, and all the assembled Hermits.

No one can miss the way Dream flinches when Xisuma’s hand lands on his shoulder -

But if Xisuma notices, he doesn’t draw any attention to it.

“Hey, guys - thanks for coming on such notice. This is Dream,” he says, instead. “He’s the Admin of a server a few weeks north of here. He’ll be a guest on our server, for a little bit - he has some… information, on the player that’s been killing Mumbo -”

Chapter Text

Sam is - actually awake, by the time the two of them get back. On his feet, even, although he’s still stuck leaning heavily on his trident, but he’s had the energy to drag himself over to the window, and shove it open, and the breeze isn’t cool but it feels good against his skin.

Getting the chair over is - a little beyond him. He winds up shoving the rug aside, and placing down a log, and just sort of - sprawling, head halfway out the window, arms curled under his chin.

The knock at the door alerts him from his doze, though. “Yeah?”

It’s - Bdubs, who nudges it open and sticks his head inside. “Hey, Sam. How are -” A pause, as he sees the awkward arrangement. “Oh. Do you want help with the chair?”

“That’d be - good, yeah.” He struggles back upright, and Bdubs rushes over to help keep him that way as Mumbo grabs the chair. “How was your - uh - thing?”

“It was… interesting,” the shorter player says, but doesn’t tell him anything else until he’s settled in the seat, a blanket tucked over him, potion in hand. “Here -”

Sam drinks it, obediently, and Bdubs gives him a little half-smile.

“So - what actually happened?” he asks, when it’s gone, and sloshes the proffered water in his mouth to wash away the taste of rotting melon.

“We - uh -”

The way Bdubs stumbles on the words puts him on edge, but Mumbo cuts in before he can ask again.

“Your Admin came to visit our server,” he says, bluntly, not meeting his eyes, and Sam’s whole chest freezes.

“Dream -” He chokes on the word, a bit, because he needs to go -

It’s not until Bdubs is pushing him back down that he realizes that he’s clawed his way to his feet. That they’re both looking at him, scared, and guilt floods through him but he needs to run, he can’t let Dream catch him -

“It’s okay,” Bdubs is repeating, voice distant. “Mumbo -”

Mumbo at least has the height to grab him and shove him back into the seat. “You’re going to make yourself sick again,” he murmurs, and Sam doesn’t get why they care. “Just - sit down, okay? We didn’t tell anyone where you are -”

“He’s been tracking me for weeks,” Sam says, half-pleading. “He already knows -”

“He doesn’t!” insists Mumbo, and Sam is too sick to just shove him aside. “He had this - compass - he doesn’t know where you are, but he’ll find you as soon as you leave the server.”

And Sam -

He sags back, because - “That’s how he’s been tracking me?” It’s - he can’t outrun Admin magic.

He’s lost this chase before it even began. Dream’s just been - been counting down the hours until he inevitably falters.

“Yeah,” Mumbo says, like the world hasn’t just ended.

There’s no place off Hermitcraft that will be safe, then. No place on Hermitcraft that will be safe, not if Dream has infiltrated the server, has won the Admin’s trust - not with Sam still too sick to run.

“It’s okay,” Bdubs murmur, and reaches out to take the trident away from him. He - lets it happen, but Bdubs doesn’t tuck it away into his own inventory and disarm him entirely. He just leans it against the wall - not that Sam has the strength to do much more than call it uselessly to his side.

Not that it would do anything if he could kill them, on a server where everyone lives forever. Not that they’re even the threat, here, even.

He’s so tired -

“Hey,” Mumbo says, and his voice is gentle. “Sam?”

A hand brushes the back of his neck, and he slumps against it and sobs.

“Sam -” Mumbo calls again, but it sounds worried - and Sam doesn’t - doesn’t know what to say -

There’s a scrape as another chair is dragged over, though. A thump as the log is dumped back out onto the floor, and Bdubs is - next to him, holding his hand, and Mumbo is leaning awkwardly over the arm of his chair and dragging him into a hug -

“It’s okay,” one of them murmurs, and Sam doesn’t know who it is. “No one’s going to hurt you. They don’t - we won’t tell them where you are -”

It doesn’t help, but - it’s kind, and it’s been a long time since Sam’s had any kind of kindness.

Had any sort of defense against it, so it takes a long time for him to go quiet in their arms.

-----

Sam feels better, but his head feels worse, by the time he manages to get himself under control again. It’s - pounding, and sore, and he scrubs his eyes dry on the sleeve of his shirt and drinks the water Bdubs offers him gratefully.

“Sorry,” he says, and if his voice is scuffed raw, the other two players don’t comment on it.

“It’s okay,” Bdubs tells him, instead. “You’ve had a… rough time. Do you think you can talk about it, a little?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, even though he’d rather just - hide. Just block out the world and curl back up and let it pass him by - but that’s not how the world works, and if Dream is hunting him -

- he only has so much time. Because - because Mumbo and Bdubs both seem confident that their admin won’t hurt them, but Dream -

He shoves the thought from his head, and drags himself back up in the chair. “What did -” he falters, but he needs to know - “What did Dream say?”

“A… lot,” Mumbo starts. “He said you were a - revolutionary. That you talked a bunch of other players on the server into rebelling against him, and locked him up in a prison -”

That’s - true, roughly, and not half as bad as it could be - “Yeah, that - I did.”

“He said you tortured him.”

He’s - silent, for a moment. He can’t bring himself to meet their eyes -

“Quackity did,” he corrects, finally. “I let him, though. That’s - that’s true.”

It sits between them for a moment, and then -

“Why?” Bdubs’ voice is - gentle. Like he doesn’t believe it.

“He’s a monster,” Sam chokes out, unable to keep the hate out of his voice. “He - We used to be friends. He was a good guy, once - we traveled together for… years, probably. Me, George, Sapnap, Callahan -”

He trails off, the words catching in his throat.

“And then he decided to settle down. Start a server -” and he can’t keep the distaste out of his mouth. “And it was - good, for a while. He was a good Admin. And then I left, for a year or two, and when I came back -”

He shrugs.

“It was a nightmare. He’d gathered a lot of players, by that point - maybe thirty of us? - and the whole server had dissolved into infighting. I tried to stay out of it, but -” he doesn’t have the words for it, to explain Manburg, and Schlatt, and Tommy - “You know how things like that are.”

Except, looking at them, they probably don’t. They’re too - to kind, for something like Dream’s server -

“A lot of stuff happened,” he says, rather than try to explain. “And - there was a kid - a couple of them, actually, right in the middle of it, they’d been pissing him off for a while - Dream hired me to build a prison.”

He doesn’t try to hide the bitterness in the smile. “He didn’t like that I stuck him there, instead.”

“Oh -” Bdubs breathes.

“And then he got his hands on Tommy anyways, and beat him to death.” He doesn’t try to soften it, doesn’t try to blunt the hard edge of his words. “I - maybe I didn’t care about what Quackity did to him, after that.”

Bdubs’ eyes are wide on him. Mumbo looks - horrified, but like he’s looking for something to say -

“Tommy?” he asks, finally. “If you only have three lives -”

“It was his last, yeah.”

The look of horror in their eyes is - gratifying, honestly. Another kindness, because it takes some of the taste of ash out of his mouth -

“Fuck,” Mumbo murmurs, voice quiet.

“And then he broke out.” Sam snorts. “I’ve been running ever since.”

“Oh.” Bdubs - hesitates. “That’s - not really what he said.”

“What did he say?” Sam asks, with a snort, because either they’re going to believe him, or not -

“That you helped lead a rebellion against him,” Mumbo offers. “And - yeah, all that stuff about a prison. He didn’t mention killing a kid.” There’s a beat, then - “Or rather, he said you tried to.”

“What - Ranboo?” That’s enough to make him drop his gaze. “I - yeah, I did. He was helping Dream escape - I thought I might be able to rein Dream in, but -”

He doesn’t have a good explanation. Doesn’t - the thought of Ranboo, trembling against his chest, makes his chest ache, but -

“Did Dream say if he survived?” he asks, quietly. “I - didn’t manage to see, before -”

“No,” Bdubs offers, softly. “He didn’t, either.”

“He had all of his lives left,” Sam says, because it’s the only thing that’s kept him going, since. “He’ll have respawned, but - the moment Dream got out, he was going to go after someone else. L’manburg, again, or Tubbo, or - he was obsessed. And Ranboo was Tommy’s friend -”

There’s a pause, and Mumbo looks almost like he wants to say something and is stopping himself.

“Ranboo’d understand,” Sam says, and his voice doesn’t sound like he believes it even to him.

They’re - quiet, for a minute.

“I believe you,” Bdubs says, finally, quietly.

Sam laughs, and chokes on it.

“You shouldn’t,” he says. “I sound like a fucking liar -”

“You sound like you care about them,” Mumbo offers. “That’s - more than I can say about Dream. And - you’ve been nice, aside from the whole -” he gestures at his throat.

His chest aches, and he closes his eyes, for a moment. Just - shuts them out, and the pair seem to get that. They’re quiet until he opens them again, and looks away -

“If you do leave the server - what are you going to do?” Bdubs asks, finally. “Go back, or…?”

“Keep moving, probably,” Sam says, instead. “I’ve managed to keep ahead of him this long, which means that there’s a good chance I can keep going, once I’ve healed. Especially with -”

His fingers brush the bag at his side. “That’ll keep him distracted,” he says, finally. “Either he’ll keep after me, and the rest of the server won’t have to deal with him, or he’ll go back to the server and I’ll be able to get clear. But - I’m not planning to let him drag me back.”

“That’s fair,” Mumbo says. “If you head east from here, you might be able to reach Hypixel - it’s a long trek, without a portal, but it’s doable on foot if you’ve already made it this far. Once you’ve recovered -”

“I was already injured leaving the SMP,” Sam says, looking up. “But - I can’t have made it that far south, surely -”

“You’re right on track, actually.” Mumbo cocks his head, considering. “You must’ve made pretty good time, but four weeks on foot, and I assume you weren’t doing much base-building - I don’t know what the original mer for your server was -”

“Right around fourty-eight hundred thousand.”

“Then you’ve covered, what, twenty-three thousand chunks?” Mumbo considers. “We’re - probably about three more weeks from Hypixel, if you can keep that sort of speed up. And Rezzus isn’t going to care about off-server conflicts, as long as you keep your head down on his server.”

“If I can even get onto the server,” Sam points out, but Mumbo shrugs.

“It’s a hub - I don’t think they stop people.”

It’s - more of a plan than he’s managed to come up with in weeks of running. It’s not even a bad one, and Sam considers it, carefully.

“I’d need - a map,” he says, finally. “Or - a compass. Some way to navigate -”

“We… might be able to manage to get ahold of a compass linked to their lode,” Mumbo tells him. “A map would be hard, but I could clone an existing compass, if Xisuma or somebody has one -”

“Stress might,” Bdubs suggests, and there’s a little hint of excitement in his voice. “Or Zed - one of the new guys, they were all travelling through there before they joined, right?”

“I can ask around,” Mumbo agrees, and Sam -

“You’re -”

He falters, as they both turn to look at him, but -

“You’re putting yourself in danger, helping me.” He hesitates, again. “You… know that, right?”

“Xisuma’s not going to -”

“It’s not your admin I’m talking about.” Because - he doesn’t know if Xisuma would turn on his players. He doesn’t, but - they talk about him so fearlessly, with such trust - “It’s Dream. He’s -”

He doesn’t know how to explain it.

“He’s not the man I used to know.” It’s - the truth, at least. “He’s - you don’t know how dangerous he can be. He turns people against each other, gets them to tear each other apart for his own amusement -”

“He’s not going to hurt us,” Mumbo says, like he’s invincible. He isn’t. “Xi wouldn’t let him.”

“Don’t test it,” Sam hisses, and sees them both flinch involuntarily at the creeper in the sound. “If you think he’s found out you two are helping me - don’t come back here, don’t wait and find out, just - please. Go to your admin, tell him everything -”

“We’re not going to rat you out -”

“Please.”

Sam - is still weak. He doesn’t have the strength to grab Mumbo properly - but Mumbo doesn’t try to pull away. His gaze is - not scared, but upset, and Sam looks up into his eyes because he needs them to understand -

“He’s dangerous. He wants to hurt me, but he’ll tear right through the two of you to do it -”

“We’ll go to Xi, Sam,” Bdubs says, and his voice is soft but honest. “He’ll - we’ll talk to him, if we have to. He - might not even let Dream have you - he’ll listen to anything you have to say, I promise. He’ll hear you out -”

And it’s a nice thought, but Sam has learned better than to count on the mercy of Admins.

“Yeah,” he says, anyways, placatingly. “I’m - sure he will, if it comes down to it.”

-----

Doc - watches.

Dream is - well, he doesn’t look great, honestly. Doc can see the tremors in his hands as he takes a bowl of soup from Xisuma, the flicker of a flinch in his shoulders whenever Xisuma is standing over him, and anger burns in his gut, because -

Because killing Mumbo? They’ve all done it, and even if the thought of an interloper on the server hurting one of their own makes fury white-hot in his chest, it’s forgivable, maybe. But if even half of what the foreign admin has told them is true -

Doc is looking forward to finding the other creeper hybrid. He’s looking forward to finding him first.

“You’re welcome,” he offers, after the admin has drunk from his bowl of soup, and set it down unsteadily, “to stay here, if you’d like. I’ve got plenty of space.”

He doesn’t mention the vague and flickering worry that Sam will find out that Dream is on the server and hunt him down, target him again - they’re on Xisuma’s server. The admin will protect Dream, like he would any of them - there’s nothing for Dream to fear, no point in scaring him when he’s already so obviously weakened by his journey.

He doesn’t mention the part of him that hopes Sam tries, anyways - that would relish the chance to deal with the other hybrid.

“I had thought -” Xisuma starts, and Dream jerks a little, masked face turning to regard him, expressionless yet wary - “that he could stay with me. I mean,” he adds, when Dream hesitates, “whichever you prefer - if you’d rather make a place for yourself, there’s plenty of room for that, too, and I can lend you some tools to get started.”

“I’d - like that, I think.” Dream’s head tilts. “I’d hate to impose -”

“It’s no imposition,” Xisuma assures him, and if Dream flinches at the hand laid on his shoulder, the admin doesn’t comment on it. “Really - you look like you’ve spent enough time sleeping in the woods, honestly. A chance to dry out would probably be good for you.”

“If you’re sure,” Dream says, but he lifts the bowl up, slotting his mask back so he can drink it, and Sam absently watches the little slip of chin that he can make out. It’s - dirty, but so is the rest of Dream, not that Sam can fault him for that.

He reaches down under the table and types something into his comms without averting his gaze.

[DocM77] >whisper<: get him a bath

There’s a buzz that Dream hardly seems to notice, and Xisuma glances down at his own comms for a moment, then up to give the slightest hint of a nod as he types his reply openly.

[XisumaVoid] >whisper<: of course

[XisumaVoid] >whisper<: in the morning maybe

[XisumaVoid] >whisper<: hes probably exhausted

Doc nods faintly back, and rises to gaze out over the glimmering firewalls, towering, distant, over the jungle. It’s framed against them, a million towering trees, Bdubs’ build a cut silhouette of black in the distance - and somewhere, between them, the hostile creeper is trapped, kettled in and hunted even if he doesn’t know it yet -

Doc is looking forward to making sure he knows before he’s caught.

Chapter Text

He feels… not better, the next morning, exactly. Stronger, sure - he manages to make it down to the basement unnoticed after breakfast, and dig out what he’s looking for from Bdubs’ mess of chests.

Making it up to the roof is - trickier. Mumbo and Bdubs are still chatting, as they tidy up the kitchen, but Bdubs catches sight of him as he’s edging up the stairs to the roof.

“Where are you going?” he asks, the question friendly, and Sam tries to keep the guilt out of his voice as he tells him,

“Just - up to the roof. I’d like to get some sun - I mean, if you think it’s safe -”

He’s got no reason to feel guilty -

“Oh!” Bdubs says, like he’s just realized something - “Yeah, you probably need a lot of light, because of the whole -” He gestures at his body, and Sam nods.

“Uh - the leaves, yeah.”

“I don’t think anyone will be flying by, no - although if you hear rockets, maybe get under cover? You’re pretty hard to spot, though -” Bdubs eyes him up and down, for a moment. “Do you want some company? I can help you drag a chair up if you need.”

“No,” Sam says, maybe a little too hasty. “I mean - I just want to, uh -”

Mumbo reaches out and puts a hand on Bdubs’ shoulder, sending Sam a little nod. “Need a little space?” he asks, and Sam nods, gratefully -

“Yeah.”

“No worries,” the other redstone engineer tells him, with a flash of smile. “Let us know if you need anything, alright?”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, and smiles back as best he can, and making his way upstairs only half feels like retreating.

-----

“What are you -”

The sharp voice from the base of his scaffold nearly makes Sam topple off of it. He jerks his head back, and the whole world sways - but he’s got a strong grip, and braces against the stone blocks under his chest until it stops.

“Sam,” Mumbo says, from under him. “Get down here.”

He sounds - not angry, exactly, but worried, annoyed, one hand reaching up to tug at Sam’s pant leg -

“Hang on,” he mumbles, and the touch vanishes.

“Are you okay?” Mumbo asks, voice a little less sharp. “Hang on - can you climb down, or do you need -”

“Just give me a moment.”

That’s what it takes to get the world to stop swaying enough that he doesn’t have to cling to the wall, and he scrambles back down the scaffold to stand, awkwardly, in front of the other player -

He’s half expecting Mumbo to snap at him. He’s not expecting him to get an arm around his waist and help him limp over to the nearest bench, or to stay, warm and comforting and rubbing his back, as he forces down nausea -

He’s not sure why he doesn’t. Both of them - both of the Hermits - have been nothing but kind to him, but…

“I’m fine,” he says, and hates the doubt when Mumbo gives a disbelieving snort.

“Sure,” Mumbo says, anyways. “Just fine - just - what are you doing, Sam? You’re barely out of bed - you’re going to make yourself sick again. Or - sicker, you’ve not even gotten to the point where you’re not already sick -”

“It’s just an autofarm,” he says, defensively. “Easy. I’ve done this build a dozen times -”

“You’re sick,” Mumbo repeats, again, like Sam doesn’t know that. “You looked like you were going to fall off the scaffold - you didn’t even hear me come up -”

“I’m fine,” Sam tells him, even though they both know it’s not true.

“Oh for -” Mumbo makes another frustrated sound. “There’s nothing live, right?”

“I don’t leave live ends on my builds -”

“And I don’t let stray redstone burn down my friend’s trees. Relax -I’m just asking, Sam. Just - sit.” He says it like Sam has any other choice, with Mumbo half-pinning him in place, and something in him bristles, but he forces it down. He’s in no condition to fight with Mumbo, and he needs - he needs to shut up, anyways. Not piss him off too much.

“Yeah,” he grumbles, instead. “Fine.”

“Prime,” Mumbo says with a snort. “You’re as bad a patient as Doc is. Is that a creeper thing, or…?”

That, at least, is enough to make Sam laugh.

It - much as it rackles, it does help to sit for a while. The nausea fades first, then the dizziness, and suddenly his head isn’t pounding half as much. He closes his eyes, and that helps, too, the darkness less painful than the pounding morning light -

He isn’t sure when he dozes off, again, just that by the time Mumbo gently shakes him awake, he’s sprawled across the other engineer’s shoulder, and the sun is much higher in the sky.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, as he shoves himself upright, but Mumbo just laughs.

“You needed it,” he says, voice fond. “You - really, you shouldn’t push yourself like this. You’re not going to get better if you keep exhausting yourself - take it easy for a bit.”

Sam - doesn’t meet his eyes, at that. He reaches into his inventory and pulls out a comparator, more to have something to waste his useless energy on than out of any kind of need for it.

“I’m -” he snorts, and clicks it, back and forth, back and forth - “I felt fine when I woke up. Figured this would be something useful to do -”

“Sure,” Mumbo says. “Which is why you snuck up here to work on it, rather than telling me or Bdubs, or asking for any kind of help -”

“I don’t need help to make a chicken farm!” It comes out angrier than he means it to, and Sam can’t quite hide the flinch at the sharpness of it. “I mean - I appreciate it, but - I should be able to -”

“You’re -” Mumbo falters. “You’re sick, Sam! Have you not - you have been sick before, right? Remember the bit where you keep getting dizzy and collapsing - that’s not normal! You need rest -”

“I -”

And Sam can’t bring himself to meet the other redstoner’s gaze.

“Yeah,” he says, instead. “I know.”

Mumbo - doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then fingers rise, and pluck a stray leaf off of Sam’s cheek, half-yellowed, and he looks up -

Into eyes which are… worried. Kind.

“It’s okay,” Mumbo tells him, voice gentle. “You’re safe, there’s plenty of time - just… focus on getting better first, okay?”

“I’m not a child,” Sam protests. “I’ll be fine.”

He doesn’t particularly care for the dismissive snort that gets him. They sit in silence, for a few minutes, Mumbo’s fingers combing through his leaves, picking the occasional dying one free with practiced care as Sam just drapes over his shoulders.

“When you’re actually feeling stronger, we should go over to my place,” Mumbo tells him, finally, and there’s something teasing in his voice that takes the sting out of the words. “You’ll love it - I’ve got tons of dumb little projects going.”

“Dumb little projects?” Sam can’t resist asking.

“You know how it is.” Mumbo waves his hand at the half-finished chicken breeder. “I mean - most of what I do is stuff like this - you know, practical things. We’ve got plenty of people on the server who are great at building but can’t quite get their heads around redstone - but I’ve been working on some more experimental stuff, myself.”

“That’d be -” Sam can’t quite keep his voice from cracking. “Nice, yeah.”

“How about you?” the other engineer asks. “You obviously know your way around an autofarm -”

“I built the prison,” Sam says, before he can stop himself. “Pandora’s Vault. It was -”

He trails off, not sure how to describe it. Not sure if he should, but -

“It was redstone-powered?” Mumbo asks, curiously, and he can’t quite hold back the laugh.

“Redstone - yeah. A lot more than that.” He sits up, and the world, this time, doesn’t rock treacherously around him. It takes a minute to dig through his inventory, and then he pulls out the thick sheave of papers, the ones he kept on him always, too dangerous and precious to hide where someone might find them, and flips through them almost idly. Designs, drawings, notes - “Guardians, inventory-kills, a switch-tetherable Nether Portal - it was inescapable. Even with help on the outside.”

He hesitates, but - “It was secure enough to trap an Admin,” he says, and he can’t keep all of the pride out of his voice, at that.

“Those are the designs?” Mumbo asks, offering a hand, and Sam shouldn’t show him.

He does, anyway. Not all of it - but he has the layout for the main entrance, and it’s - he’s proud of it. Whatever it turned into, it was a good build -

“That’s incredible,” Mumbo murmurs, an expert’s fingers brushing over the sheet, and Sam has to turn his face away at the genuine awe in his voice. But Mumbo keeps going - “This is so clever - the pistons, what? They don’t just crack the portal -”

And then there’s a pause, and Sam is pretty sure that Mumbo’s noticed that he’s crying.

“I’m fine,” he says, before the other engineer can ask. Mumbo makes a soft, worried sound anyways. “No, I’m fine.”

“Alright,” Mumbo says, behind him. A warm arm wraps around his waist, though, drags him closer, and Sam can’t help but lean into it. “This is - incredible, Sam. I’d love to look at it with you, sometime. If you want. When you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” he mumbles, and he can feel Mumbo nod at his back.

“But for now -” Mumbo hesitates. “I don’t want to take over your build, but -”

“Go ahead,” Sam tells him. “I - you’re probably right. I’m not really in any shape to be climbing.”

“You can help me troubleshoot,” Mumbo offers. “I always get the comparators backwards, for these -”

“Sure,” Sam tells him, even though the other engineer is lying. “Here -”

He passes over what’s left of the building blocks in his inventory, and watches, half-curled on the bench, as Mumbo scrambles up the scaffolding and starts to place blocks with the same kind of effortless ease that -

That he had tried to teach Tommy, once, and the thought aches. That Tubbo had understood so much more easily. He shoves the thought out of his head, and after another moment, Mumbo’s head pops up over the side of the farm’s edge -

“You were doing this three wide?” he calls, and Sam -

Nods.

Nods, and calls back, “It saves a whole three ticks of bounce -”

When Bdubs comes up a half-hour later, it’s to find Sam, half-laying on top of the stone frame, passing pieces down to Mumbo as the pair argue furiously about relay lengths, and -

It’s good. It feels - good, even when both of them have to help him lever himself down, and the world sways wildly until they drape him over their shoulders, one on each side, and half-carry him back to bed.

-----

Dream is better than Doc expected at moving through the forest, honestly.

They’ve long since left Xisuma behind, the Admin off to - presumably - continue his own hunt in the air. Doc would usually prefer to be left on his own, for something like this - he’s better-suited than any of the other Hermits, except maybe Bdubs, for jungle stealth - but Dream slips between the shadows of the trees easily, green cloak fading into the backdrop of verdant leaves and lush foliage and vanishing.

Even his mask, white and crisp, is easy to lose against the sun-speckled background of dew-stained leaves. It’s impressive, and Doc doesn’t consider himself an easy man to impress.

He pauses as they reach a forest clearing, and Dream goes still beside him, head turning as he scans the treeline. As if he thinks Doc has spotted something -

But there’s nothing there. It’s just…

“Here,” he says, the first word they’ve said to each other since Xisuma left them cutting through the forest like an ax against wood. “Let’s stop for a minute, get our bearings.”

Dream seems - reluctant. “Let me take a look around -”

“You’re the reason we’re stopping,” Doc tells him, maybe a little more blunt than he means to be. “No offense - but I’m built for this kind of heat. You should drink something.”

Dream weighs that, for a moment, or maybe he just weighs the merits of arguing it. Doc doesn’t let it bother him - it’s been a long time since he’s let a human overdo themselves, and he’s almost certainly more stubborn than somebody else’s Admin.

“Yeah,” Dream finally concedes, reaching out to take the bottle of water that Doc offers.

He doesn’t bother drinking anything - there’s enough wet still in the soil and the air for him - but he does pull out a little leaf-wrapped cod and eat it, wrap and all. “I’ve got some that’s a little more… palatable, if you want it,” he offers, after a moment, but Dream shakes his head.

“I’ve got something,” he says, instead, pulling out an apple and shining it against his cloak before biting into it.

“You’ve spent a lot of time in the jungle, then?” Doc asks, when he tosses the core into the bushes. “Or - no. Oak forests, right?”

“... Yeah,” Dream agrees, after a moment. “And sprucelands. What gave it away?”

“You keep trying to move through bushes,” Doc tells him. “You’re quiet, hard to follow, but try to stay up a little higher. As soon as you get bogged down at ground level, you’re a sitting duck for - well, creepers.”

Dream laughs, and - it’s the first time Doc’s heard him laugh. There’s something dry to it, like the joke hasn’t quite landed, but that’s fine - the Admin’s worn out, worried -

“We’re going to hit a clearing pretty soon,” Doc tells him. “Once we’re there, it’s straight down the cliff, and we’ll be in the bamboo forest he ran off into. I doubt we’ll find a trail - too much rain, and we’ll probably get more tonight - but maybe you’ll pick up on something I miss.”

“I’ve had to hunt Sam down before,” the Admin agrees, and there’s something cold in his voice for just a moment, before it turns steady again. “He - we were friends, once. I know his tricks.”

“You were -” Doc cuts himself off. “Sorry - that must be rough.”

Something about Dream goes tight, for a moment - the set of his shoulders hardens as he turns back into the woods. “It’s in the past,” he says, dismissively, and Doc hums in agreement. “Let’s keep going.”

“Sure,” Doc tells him, and slips ahead of him, leading him back into the jungle.

Dream stays lighter on his feet, this time, keeping well above the forest floor.

-----

“What is that?” Dream asks, and it takes Doc a minute to figure out what he means.

“What, Bdubs’ tree?” he asks, and Dream nods. “Yeah, he decided to build that rather than a castle, this season. He’s - well, I’m not sure if he’s a hybrid, exactly. If he is, he’s never mentioned with what - but he’s definitely got something going on. He’s - a little weird. Great guy.”

“With the moss cloak, right?”

Doc nods. “You’ll see him around, probably. If he wants you to. If he doesn’t, you won’t. Even I have a hard time keeping track of him.”

“Ah.” Dream gazes off at the distant, towering shape of the tree for a moment, then shrugs. “Are we likely to run across him?”

“Maybe?” Doc gestures to his comm. “I mean - he’ll show up if I comm him. I can, if you want to talk to him again -”

“No, it’s fine,” Dream tells him after a moment. “I’m just - worried, I guess. Sam is…”

He trails off, and Doc hesitates for only a second before reaching out to put a hand on the Admin’s shoulder. He can feel Dream flinch under it, just slightly - he doesn’t comment on it.

“Bdubs can take care of himself,” Doc assures him. “He’s - your player will never see him coming, unless ‘dubs wants him to, and he’ll be keeping an eye out. If Sam is unlucky enough to run into him - well, Bdubs will have plenty of time to let Xi know, and he’ll take care of it from there.”

“Yeah,” Dream agrees, but he can see the Admin considering - something.

“What’re you thinking about?” Doc asks, finally, when the quiet stretches a bit too long. “I mean - if you want to talk about it -”

“Nothing,” Dream says, but the mask turns to face him. “Or - I don’t know. Thinking about my server - I’ve been away for too long, already. I don’t know how far things have gotten out of hand -”

“You don’t have mods?”

That gets another bitter laugh from Dream. “No,” he says, and he doesn’t elaborate. Sam doesn’t ask any more questions, after that.

“It’s getting late,” he says, after another few minutes. “We can probably make it down into the canyon before nightfall, if you want to spend the night in the woods - if you want to head back, though, now’s the time.”

“I’ve spent the last month in the woods,” Dream says with a snort. “I think I’ll survive.”

“I’ll talk to Xi about getting you some elytra next time we see him,” Doc tells him. “That’d speed things up a bit, at least. Make it easier to cover ground, although I like our chances of actually finding something better if we walk.”

“That’d be -” Dream hesitates. “Good. I’ve never used them.”

“Really?” Doc laughs. “Well - we’ll get you a pair for sure, then. Make this whole trip a lot easier.”

“Sure,” the Admin agrees, and silence lapses back over both of them as they begin their descent into the bamboo canyon below.

Chapter Text

They keep a closer eye on him, after that.

He notices - of course he does. Neither Bdubs nor Mumbo are - subtle, exactly, and honestly, it’s hard to tell if they’re even trying to hide it from him. Nothing they’re doing is obtrusive, really, it’s just - little glances, when they think he’s not paying attention. One of them is always hovering around, or working on their own projects just a room or two away, or checking in on him to make sure he’s not over-exerting himself.

It would be frustrating, if it wasn’t so - nice. He can admit that, even if it’s just to himself. It’s nice to have people checking in on him, and making sure he’s okay. When he wakes up aching, it’s nice to have one of them stick their head in the door, and help him up, and grab a potion for him so he doesn’t have to move until the pounding in his head recedes.

Still, there are - other things he needs to worry about. Concerns that Mumbo and Bdubs don’t exactly seem to share.

“Don’t worry,” Mumbo tells him, when Sam brings up that - well, he and Bdubs have been together a lot the last few days, for two people who apparently didn’t visit much, before this. “That’s just - how we do things, here. There’s always someone teaming up to work on a project. No one even questioned it when I mentioned that me and Bdubs were working on something.”

“Everyone knows Mumbo is doing some redstone work for me,” Bdubs agrees. “I’ve brought it up a couple of times, by now - Doc knows, I had to tell him that he was off the hook. And anyways - I think Suma’s just happy to have someone sticking close by my base. He’d probably ask Keralis or Doc or someone to hang around, if Mumbo wasn’t - I don’t know if you’ve heard, there’s a murderous outsider on the server -”

He grins to take the edge off the words, though, and Sam doesn’t bother holding back the snort of laughter. “Sure,” he agrees, and the grin brightens, just a bit.

---

At least he’s getting stronger, even if he’s exhausted all the time. Mumbo still heads him off anytime he looks too longingly at a bag of redstone, but Sam can feel his strength return as he buds out, new leaves growing in thick and verdant as his vines heal.

The redstoner is - touchy, Sam would call it. Or grabby, maybe. He hardly seems to notice, when he’s plucking out a yellowed leaf, or tugging loose a creeper that’s coiled a bit too tight, and Sam - can’t quite bring himself to mind. Bdubs keeps his distance, a little more - not avoiding touching Sam, he’s just as eager as Mumbo to help him get to a seat when he wears himself out, or help him position a cold cloth when his back twinges, but -

“You spend a lot of time with Doc?” Sam finally asks, one evening, as they’re sitting under the stars. Mumbo’s fingers are untangling a bit of vine, and Sam can feel the way they still, buried in his leaves.

Then they start to pull back. “Sorry -”

“No,” Sam says, vines responding almost instinctively to tighten around the redstoner’s fingers - just for a moment, before going slack. “I mean - I don’t mind - just… you seem to know a lot about pruning.”

That gets a snort from Mumbo. “Sure,” he says, and Sam can feel the laughter in his voice as he goes back to working the vine loose. “All self-taught, I promise, Scar has books. Doc hates letting anyone work on his vines.”

That’s a bit of information Sam wasn’t expecting, and he considers it, for a moment -

“I mean,” he offers, finally, “It’s - probably nothing personal. They’re pretty delicate -”

Mumbo just laughs, though. “Oh - I know. He’s - not as bad about it, anymore. When I first moved in with him -” He holds up three fingers, just close enough that Sam can see them over his shoulder, and make out the faint silver scar at their bases - “He bit off all three of my fingers when I got a little too close to his face, one time.”

“Ah,” Sam says, but he can’t keep the teasing grin off his lips. “So you decided pruning a strange creeper would be safer?”

“Pff.” The exhaled breath is close enough to rustle his leaves. “I mean - that was years ago. I wore him down eventually. Besides - you looked worse-off than he did, when I met you, and that’s saying something.”

“I had been lit on fire,” Sam tells him. “What was his excuse?”

“You got lucky, winding up with Bdubs,” Mumbo laughs. “He’s the only hermit with a consistent sleep schedule, Sam. The rest of us - well, varying degrees of work-til-you-collapse syndrome, I promise, but the point is, if you guys spend more than a couple days in a dark basement workroom you get wilty.”

“Ah.” And he’s - definitely spent more than his share of time working on redstone in a dark basement, so - “I have some, uh - bad news, then -”

“Nooooo -”

But Mumbo is grinning, as he drops his head forwards to rest on the leaves of Sam’s back.

“You should’ve seen me when I was bucketing lava into the prison,” Sam tells him. “I was brown -”

“I’m going to dump you in a lake until you grow kelp,” Mumbo threatens, but his fingers wrap around a yellowing leaf and pluck it, anyways. “But - you’re looking greener, at least. How many of these is normal, anyways?”

“I’m - probably going to lose everything, eventually,” Sam admits. “I mean - fever’s good at killing leaves. The first bunch was from the actual fire - I don’t know.”

He shrugs.

“They’ll defoliate eventually, and the new ones will fill back in. I’m just going to feel like trash until they do.”

“Oh.” Mumbo tugs another free. “Because you can’t photosynthesize, right? Are you getting enough sun?”

“It’s more -” Sam waves a hand. “It’s a lot, right? I’ve got to grow them all back, and that’s not the sort of thing a potion can speed up. It doesn’t hurt, at least…”

“Sure.” Mumbo doesn’t sound entirely content, at that, but he lapses back into silence. It sits between them, for a moment, not quite as easy as before, until -

“You lived together?” Sam asks, breaking it. “I mean - you said you guys team up for projects, right? What were you and Doc working on?”

And Mumbo’s laughs, again, and starts to talk, and Sam lets the chatter about testing and mob farms and comparator ratios sooth the disquiet between them.

---

It’s been most of a week, when the pair have to leave, again - called to another meeting about him. They both seem relaxed, but Sam can’t help the frission of tension at the mention of their admin - the admin who’s still, obviously, hunting him.

“Relax,” Bdubs tells him. “If ‘suma thought you were hiding out here, he wouldn’t bother calling a meeting - he’d just show up to poke around.”

Mumbo makes a sort of strangled sound that’s halfway to a laugh, at that.

“Good job, ‘dubs. Very reassuring.” He meets Sam’s gaze steadily, though, and there’s a sort of wordless confidence to his smile that makes the tightness in Sam’s chest relax, a little. “Really, Sam. I know that your admin was - well - but Xisuma’s not like that. If he thinks something’s up, he’s going to talk to us, not - I don’t know. Try to trap us?”

“Sure,” Sam agrees, not quite as confident, but they know their admin, and - it’s not like they have much of a choice, anyways. Not like his uncertainty is going to leave them any other options -

But Dream will be there, and - “Just… be careful, okay?” he finally settles on. “Especially around Dream. He’s - good at getting into people’s heads.”

“We’ll keep an eye out,” Bdubs promises. “And you - take it easy, right? No running outside to mess with the redstone?”

“Sure,” Sam promises, only half-lying, and he can tell by Mumbo’s snort that the other redstoner doesn’t believe him.

“At least take it easy,” he says, and that, at least, Sam can agree to.

“Sure.”

Then - they’re off, after Bdubs checks for the dozenth time that he knows where everything in the kitchen is, and Mumbo offers, one more time, to stay behind because he’s ‘working on something delicate’, and Sam is, for the first time in almost a week, properly alone, again.

The treehouse is quiet, without them, but it’s - not bad. A peaceful sort of quiet, with the wind rustling in the leaves, and if he closes his eyes he can almost imagine that it’s the bubbling of lava, and that everything is fine -

And then he opens them, again, and breathes in the cool morning air, and the sub, and shrugs off the stillness of it all and gets to work.

He has things to do, after all.

---

The first of which is - he goes swimming.

He’s not stupid. Not even if the thought of making for the border while they’re gone and running had… occurred to him, more than once.

But it’s a stupid idea, and he knows it. Not if Dream is using admin magic to track him - magic that must be confounded by Xisuma’s power, or the admin would have raged up on him like a forest fire the moment he was too weak to run.

If Dream is tracking him - if Bdubs and Mumbo are willing to shelter him - his best bet is to stick with them. To take advantage of the generosity they seem so willing to offer until they’re tired of him, or until Dream or Xisuma catch on, and buy himself time to heal. There’s always the chance that makes it to Hypixel, and safety, and strands Dream three thousand chunks from home.

And if Hypixel is out of reach - well. He’s outrun Dream before. He’s run Dream down before, and -

If the server still exists, Dream is weaker than he’s ever been. It’s a rail-thin line of hope, but… admin can overextend themselves. He’s seen it happen, before - with Dream, even, when the Admin had wrung himself so thin that he could no longer fight back against his own players as they shoved him in a cell.

If his magic is stretched between sustaining the server, and fighting Sam, it might be too much for the admin. Enough to let Sam kill him, again, or cripple him and leave him stranded, and then -

If he’s lucky, Tommy and Technoblade and Quackity and all the rest of the server have taken their chance to gear back up, dig in, and be ready for him. Or Dream will choose to abandon the server to preserve himself, and they’ll have a chance to get away…

Of course, if he’s unlucky, Dream’s already abandoned the server, and will have all his magic, and will take the chance to grind Sam into the dust, but that’s - well…

Not worth thinking about, really. He’ll be dead, but Tommy, and Tubbo, and Ranboo will be free.

Instead, he lets himself focus on the smooth surface of the water beneath him - the delicate ripples of an early-morning breeze scattering the reflections of the treetops, and the glint-blue sky beyond them.

He slips down into it carefully, bit by bit, hardly disturbing the surface with his passage, and lets the water flood between his vines.

It’s cool. Not cool enough to nip at him - just the easy chill of a shaded pool, contrasted against the mugginess of the jungle. He sinks into it, letting it ease the ache in fever-bruised vines, and submerges himself completely.

The bottom is soft silt and leaf-rot, and he settles into it and buries himself and rests.

This sort of thing - the instinctive little gestures that are creeper, that soothe the bit of him that was never meant to be human - feel… different, now, than they did when he was younger. There’s a difficulty to relaxing into his instincts that never came to him before Dream’s server, before the wars, before running - a sort of constant wariness that he has to shove back.

He forces it down, anyways, because Dream is at a meeting and not hunting for him, and shuts his eyes, and drowses, not quite sleeping, until silver scales brush against him, and something nips at a leaf.

All at once he’s in motion, lightning-quick and everywhere, without even conscious thought -

The cod dies easy between his teeth, and is gone in a single gulp. It’s not a large fish, hardly more than a bite, and all the rest have scattered, but instinct tugs at him and he stills again. Drawing his vines in, watching, waiting, until one grows bold enough to swim too close -

It dies, too, faster than the other, and he’s already twisting, reaching out to hook his claws through the gills of a third that’s gotten confused by the maze of his vines -

He gluts himself on them, because there’s nothing better to do, while he’s healing. There’s a focus to fishing, a sort of narrowing of the world, until it’s just him and the flickers of silver in water stirred dark by sediment.

Dimly, he wonders if Bdubs and Mumbo would consider this ‘over-exerting himself’, but - no, if the look in Bdubs’ eyes that first day, offering him a raw salmon, had been anything to go by, probably not.

He eats… more cod than he really should, by the time he’s done, but overfullness is a pleasant ache as he drags himself out of the water. He’s dripping as he makes his way back into the tree, and the bubble elevator foams against him soothingly as he rockets up to the treetops, trying not to get the kitchen too wet as he makes his way out onto the roof.

The sun is high, and hot, and bright, and it beats down on him as he curls up on a patch of unplanted soil and lets himself drift, new-sprouted leaves shifting to face up into the light as he rests. Beneath him, the soil is loamy, and good, already warmed by the sun and soft against the still-bruised bits of him.

It’s - nice. It’s what he needs. Sleep hunts him down quicker than Dream ever has, and Sam greets it welcomingly.

---

He’s woken with a start, to the blast of rockets.

He’s so, so fucking lucky, because creeper instinct makes him freeze, at the explosion, rather than jolting upright. The man - and it is a man, a human player, Sam can tell from the voice alone - lands on the roof with a thud, and calls out - “Bdubs?”

Sam stays very, very still.

The man is close. Unfamiliar - not the admin, at least, it’s no one Sam has encountered on this server yet, and not Dream -

He steps closer, and there’s no way to tell if he’s moving towards Sam or the house proper.

“Mumbo?” he calls, again, and walks so close to Sam that the hybrid could reach out and touch him. Only the growing darkness and the thin line of sugarcane growing beside him are keeping him hidden - and if he turns, that won’t be enough -

But the man doesn’t have a creeper’s senses, so rather than notice that anything’s wrong, he walks on by, and bangs on the house’s door.

“Mumbo, Bdubs - are you home, yet?” he calls, again, and Sam takes the opportunity to roll, half-silent, out of the wooden farmbed.

They aren’t home, is the problem, or they’d have woken him up, at least to check on him, which means -

The visitor turns, and Sam resists the urge to duck his head down in favor of remaining perfectly, perfectly still.

They don’t walk back towards him, at least. They’ve got a pair of elytra, and a rocket that they’re rolling between their fingers as they consider the garden around them, and a mask that covers as much of their face as Sam’s does. Something about them seems - almost familiar, but nothing comes to mind as he racks his memory, and he doesn’t have time to worry about it -

Instead, he creeps, almost serpentine, back away from the path they’d first walked down. There’s more cover, further from the door, out of the flickering light of the torches, and Sam slinks into a stand of berry bushes with more than a little relief. The prickers don’t do more than catch against his clothes as he moves to watch the human through the greying light.

They - aren’t looking for him, apparently.

They can’t be, because they’ve leaned back against the wall of Bdub’s house, looking wholly engrossed in - a book of some sort, thick and leather-bound. They’ve tucked away the rocket, and grabbed a quill, and they’re scratching what look like thin notes in the margins as they read, paying no attention to the world around them.

If he wanted to kill them, they’d be dead, and that helps Sam relax, a little.

That doesn’t make them less of a problem, though, because they’re between him and the house proper, and that means that he really, really doesn’t have anywhere to go. It’s not quite being caught out in the open, but dusk is coming, and as well-lit as the roof is, it’ll be easy for the player to notice the movement of his shadow in the dark -

Or his armor glinting in the berry farm, if they take off on their elytra.

It’s that thought that has him moving, again, painfully, cautiously slowly. The animal farms are safer - big, cobble builds that can put a physical wall between him and the human, taking him out of their line of sight entirely -

They haven’t even looked up, by the time he reaches the chicken farm, and he’s not sure whether to feel proud or worried about them. On Dream’s server -

Well, the itch to start just the flicker of a hiss and watch them panic is there, even for him. It’s easy enough to quash, though, and instead, he lets the gentle churble of the chickens cover him up and hide him.

It’s not quite enough to drown out the sudden, distant blast of rockets, though, or the heavy thuds as two more players land on the roof.

This time, there’s no question of who they are. “Ethos!” Bdubs shouts, and even though it’s friendly, Sam can hear the frisson of worry behind the name. The name itself - itches. He should know -

But the other player is calling out too. “Mumbo - Bdubs! I was wondering where you two had gotten off to! I had forgotten to ask you - well, Mumbo, we’ll probably have to look over the timer diagrams together, it’s kind of a complicated question. Do you have a bit?”

“Sure!” There’s the sound of feet on stone. “Yeah, of course - um, how long have you been here?”

“I flew over as soon as I realized I needed to - well, I don’t know. Maybe two hours? Three?” Ethos pauses, and Sam feels a sinking twist of fear in his gut. “Why?”

“Uh -”

Bdubs trips on his words, but Mumbo is there, all grinning confidence. “We’ve got a thing, Ethos. Don’t worry about it. Little surprise we’re working on - just can’t have people poking around, you know?”

It’s the most suspicious thing that Sam has ever heard.

He’s surprised when, rather than call that out, Ethos laughs - a fond, easy laugh. There’s no concern at all in his voice when he replies, “Sure. You’re not going to burn down the tree, right?”

Mumbo lets out an indignant squawk. “No!” There’s a pause, and then, a little sheepishly, he adds - “Buuuut… I should go check on it, actually. Probably.”

Ethos snorts. “Sure.”

“Why don’t -” Mumbo hesitates, just a hair, and he’s just as confident as before a moment later. “Bdubs! Show Ethos around the gardens, why don’t you? I’ll head inside, check on things, and grab something for us to eat when I’m done - how’s that?”

“Sure.” Ethos says, and this time, there’s a softness to the word, a sort of - fondness, definitely. “You’ve done a beautiful job with the place, B.”

Bdubs has. And Mumbo’s done a great job, too, Sam realizes, the curling knot of concern twisting towards panic, except for the fact that now Sam is trapped outside with Ethos -

He skirts the edge of the chicken farm, just far enough that he can try to make eye contact with Bdubs, but the moss-cloaked player’s gaze is wholly on Ethos, and the door to the house is already clicking shut behind Mumbo.

It’s fine. He’s fine.

He just needs to - avoid them, right? Stay clear of them, hope Bdubs lingers until Mumbo can realize that Sam isn’t in the house and - he’s not sure. Distract Ethos outside long enough for Sam to sneak in? Find an excuse to get the white-haired man to leave entirely?

Either way - he’s safe. Ish. For the moment, as Bdubs grabs Ethos’ hand, and drags him off to look at the cane farm, not quite far enough or hidden enough for Sam to try for the door, instead. The chicken farm is good cover, at least, and loud enough that they’re not going to hear him moving, and Sam takes advantage of a moment where the other player’s back is turned to punch out the torch behind him and throw himself into shadows.

He’s fine. It’s fine.

Bdubs is - not even having to bluff, to buy Mumbo time, it seems. He’s talking to Ethos like they’re old, best friends, showing off his little farm with such obvious enthusiasm that it makes Sam wonder exactly how much he’s risking by lying to the other player’s face like this.

Ethos, for his part, is - more subdued, sure, but his voice is fond, and appreciative, and he lets himself be led around without any hurry at all -

And then Bdubs says, “- and Mumbo set up the farms, for me -” and any little bit of tension Sam had managed to shed floods back, because fuck.

He’s hidden, still. Shit. He’s got the whole chicken farm between him and them, and there’s no reason to come around behind it -

He thinks still, silent thoughts as they approach, slinking deeper into the little shards of shadow. The only mercy he has is that the sky above them is indigo, fading to ink-black, and it’s dark enough that he’ll be almost invisible among the leaves.

Ethos is a redstoner, apparently, if his examination of the farm is anything to go by. Meticulous, too - his comments are - focused, and Sam can hear him fiddle with the comparators, the way the chicken’s squawking changes pitch as the machine shoves them back and forth -

And then Mumbo bursts out of the house, not quite out of breath.

“Hey Bdubs -!” he shouts, and it’s a good thing that their server is soft because Mumbo is a terrible bluffer - “That - uh, project we’re working on - a big chunk of it’s missing!”

“Missing?” Bdubs says, at almost the same time that Ethos does, and Mumbo falters.

“Um. Yeah!” he covers for himself, and Sam tries to think small thoughts as he presses back against the tree’s leaves, because that’s the only thing that’s going to save him now. “Yeah, it’s - uh, not in the house.”

“Is that a problem?” Ethos’ voice is - worried. Not suspicious, though - not yet - just… concerned. “Do you want me to help you look?”

“Uh -” there’s sort of a choked sound, from Mumbo, and Bdubs blurts “No!” in a way that makes it sound like he’s scared to get caught -

But Ethos just laughs. “Sure,” and there’s something affectionate in the way he says it. “I mean - is the tree going to blow up? If you need me out of your hair…”

A pause, and Sam can almost feel the other two players looking at each other, considering -

“No,” Mumbo says, and Sam can’t help the sharp, quiet hiss of pain as he throws his head back in frustration and bashes it on a branch behind him. “I mean - it’ll keep. Why don’t you show me what you needed a second set of eyes for, and we can grab some cocoa, or something - I think we have cookies -”

“Sure,” Ethos says, agreeably. Then: “Just let me finish poking around here? You did a nice job on this, Mumbo. Really neat work. I haven’t had the time to get a farm set up at my base, this season -”

“Of course!” Mumbo sounds like he’s preening at the praise. “Here - you want a leg up? I did some interesting stuff with stairs at the top, I’d love your opinion - trying to make it a little easier to slaughter without any chickens getting loose -”

Fuck.

“Sure,” and there’s the sound of Mumbo scrabbling, a grunt as someone’s lifted up -

Fuck.

And Ethos’ head pokes over the top of the chicken farm, and he drags himself upward, settling on one knee on the top of it -

Fuck.

And he’s hidden, Sam’s hidden, there’s no way a human player is going to see him in the dark, but Ethos’ head rises, gaze passing uselessly through the darkness -

Fuck.

“You need to light up back here, Mum-” he starts, but then Sam sees it - the glint of red light from an eye that isn’t an eye, and before Sam can think to react or run or grab his own weapons, there’s a bow drawn back in the other player’s hands -

Fuck.

“Oh,” Ethos says, staring down at him, the veil of darkness doing nothing at all to hide Sam from the glow of redstone-powered vision. “I don’t suppose this is your project, Bdubs, is it?”

And what the hell is Sam supposed to say to that?

Chapter Text

Xisuma is curled in a chair in the living room, fiddling with server-code, when Doc finally drags himself and Dream back to his castle.

The admin looks up, eyebrow raised, as they stumble inside - but he’s quick to unfold himself and offer a hand when he sees the state Dream is in. The younger admin is swaying on his feet, exhaustion obvious in his bleary gaze, and Doc takes him by the shoulder and steadies him.

“Go grab a shower,” Doc tells him. “Get some sleep. You did good out there, kid.”

Dream makes a sound that might be protest, and Doc shoves him, lightly. “Go,” he says, again, and the younger admin finally caves.

“Thank you, uh - Doc. Admin Xisuma,” and with a nod from Xisuma, he stumbles off towards the stairs.

They wait until he’s gone to say anything else, the silence between them comfortable as Doc makes himself a mug of cocoa, and Xisuma curls back up in his armchair. It’s only when the sound of running water echoes back up from the shower that Xisuma speaks.

“He looked… rough.” It’s a testament to the trust between them that there’s no judgment in his voice at Doc having let the other admin run himself ragged.

“He pushes himself,” Doc admits. It’s been - worrying, watching Dream insist on pressing on with their hunt to the edge of exhaustion. “We’d search all day, and then he’d want to keep hunting through the night. Which - I mean, I’m used to it, but…”

He shrugs.

“I insisted we head back when he started spawning in phantoms.”

“That’s…”

“He’s driven,” Doc acknowledges, noncommittal. “I mean…”

“He’s pushing himself too hard,” Xisuma says, shaking his head. “Even once we find Sam, he’s going to take at least a week getting back to his server. Longer, if he’s not fit to travel, and working himself like this… he’s going to wear himself out.”

Xisuma knows more about admin than Doc, and there’s a certainty in his voice that echoes Doc’s own concerns. “So…” and Doc trails off. “What do we do?”

“I’ll call another meeting,” Xisuma tells him, after a minute’s contemplation stretches between them. “Not tonight. It’ll take at least a day for everyone to finish up their projects and get over here.”

No one on the server would hesitate to drop everything, if Xisuma called them. He’s had the server together in hours, before. “Sure,” Doc agrees, anyways.

“Of course, it wouldn’t be worth it for the two of you to go back out before we round everyone up. You’ll have to help me get things ready, and I’m afraid I’m a bit too territorial to let a foreign admin wander around my server alone -”

“Sure.” This time, though, Doc doesn’t manage to keep the conspiratorial grin off his lips. “Of course, Dream’s welcome to poke around the castle. I’m sure he can find something productive to do.”

Sleeping, ideally, but Doc will take what he can get.

“Hopefully, we can at least get one or two of the other hermits to help you look - or someone will have seen something, give us an idea of where to go…” Xisuma says, rolling his shoulders back to stare up at the ceiling. “I’ll be honest, having Dream here, and Sam running around out there…”

He trails off, but Doc’s known him for long enough to see the weariness in his posture.

“It’s that bad?” he asks, and Xisuma lets out a huff.

“In terms of magic? No. I could probably handle another dozen of you at least before I started to push my limits. They’re not burdening the server.” But that’s not the only consideration, and - “It’s just… knowing they’re here. It’s like an itch. Just - it’s impossible to forget about them being here.”

Doc lets out a sympathetic hum, and Xisuma snorts a laugh.

“It’s not a big deal,” he adds. “I’ll manage. Just - I won’t lie, I want them both off my server as much as I think Dream wants to get back to his.”

“Fair enough,” Doc tells him, as the shower above them shuts off, and they both lapse into a companionable quiet. Doc has his arm off and is fiddling with the redstone, covering exposed seams with cactus green, and Xisuma is working on his admin screen by the time Dream makes his way back down the stairs.

“Feeling better?” Xisuma asks, as he finishes toweling his hair dry, and Dream nods.

“Thank you,” he offers. “I… needed that.”

“Grab a seat,” Xisuma tells him, blue screen slipping aside into nothing as he rises again. “Let me grab you something to eat.”

Dream drops down onto the couch next to Doc with a faint grunt. Doc watches him, out of the corner of his eye, and doesn’t miss the way his fingers tremble faintly when Xisuma hands him a bowl of mushroom stew.

“We were just talking,” he says. “Me and Xi - he’s going to try to get the server together, again, check in with people -”

----

Dream takes it - better than Doc had expected, honestly. He doesn’t protest when Xisuma announces that he’s being confined to the castle for the next day. There’s a faint shadow in his eyes, but it might even be relief, and he excuses himself not long after and vanishes up to his room.

“That went well,” Doc tells Xisuma, and that, at least, gets a smile.

After that - they don’t see much of him. Not that night, and aside from a brief flash of him at breakfast the next morning, the foreign admin seems content to keep to himself during the day. Doc sees a little of him out in the gardens, and passes him, once or twice, in the halls, but nothing beyond that.

Not that he doesn’t have his own things to worry about.

Ethos shows up about two hours after breakfast, grinning when he sees Doc’s eye still glowing red in his face. He reaches up, fingers pressing, experimentally, against the side of his optic panel.

“This didn’t short at all?” he asks, and Doc snorts.

“I kept it dry,” he says, dismissively. “No idea if it would’ve held up if I had actually gotten submerged, but I can still see in color, so…”

“It’s an improvement,” Ethos agrees. “Sure. Here - let’s pop the housing open, see how dry it stayed -”

The maintenance isn’t hard, exactly. It’s the sort of thing that needs an extra set of hands, though - and Ethos’ are steady and cautious as they remove the outer layer of his optical housing, carefully popping loose the latches before pulling the whole casing off.

It’s - disconcerting, always, to feel the metal lift away, and have his vision and depth perception flicker away -

“Looks good,” Ethos says, after a moment. He reaches down, and pulls loose the optic lens itself,setting it on the table before examining the housing. “Connecting pins look clean. How’re your vines doing?”

Doc turns his face, just slightly, giving the other redstoner access. “Sore,” he admits. “Nothing major. They swelled, a little, from the humidity. Just regular saturation - it’s not digging in too badly.”

Ethos’ fingers are painstakingly gentle as they probe the edge of his mount.

“Doesn’t look too bad,” he concedes, after another minute. “Might want to put a fungicide on it, at least, there is some chafing, but I think we’ve solved the worst of the moisture issues. Thoughts on recaulking the inside?”

“Mumbo had an idea, actually -” which is how a lot of stories start, but the younger redstoner has a creativity that outshines either of them, sometimes - “Something about completely filling in the voids in the housing with cactus green, to completely exclude outside moisture -”

“That -” Ethos considers, for a moment - “could work. I mean - up to you if you want to explore something like that, it’s your face -”

Doc snorts. “I’m spending a lot of time in the jungles, Ethos.” He shrugs. “He said he’d draw up a concept diagram. I’m game to give it a look, I’d just…”

He trails off, but Ethos laughs. “Rather have someone other than Mumbo take a look, first?” Doc nods, and he grins. “Sure. Have him bring it to the meeting, I’ll review it.”

They lapse into chatting about other projects, as they fit the housing back together, and remount it. There’s always something to work on - it’s not long before Doc is soaring back to Ethos’ house with the older player, and they’re halfway through expanding the iron farm by the time the sun starts to set.

----

Keralis shows up shortly after they get back to the castle, and has holed himself up, wrapped in blankets next to the fire, by the time Doc’s finished clearing out the dining room for the actual meeting.

The other hermits trickle in - there’d been no real urgency to Xisuma’s summons, and the castle takes on the sort of social atmosphere that Doc can only handle in small doses. Ethos and Mumbo both vanish, Bdubs tagging along at their heels, and Doc can’t help but stare longingly after them as Cleo and Joel corner him.

He’s been talked into what feels like half a dozen different projects by the time he manages to beg off and escape them. Nothing unpleasant, just - a lot.

The only relief he has, as he slips out into the gardens, is that Dream, trailing behind Xisuma like a loyal wolf, looks exactly as overwhelmed as he feels.

Fresh air helps, though. Fresh air, and sunshine, and quiet, at least for a bit. He settles on a stone fence, and relaxes his vines, and tries to think bush thoughts and let the stress roll away.

“Too many people?” a voice behind him asks, a few minutes later, when the worst of it is gone. Scar settles on the wall next to him, careful of his vines, and Doc grunts agreement.

The younger player reaches out, and Doc feels something settle between his vines.

He reaches up, and almost crushes the flower before he registers what it is and dials back his grip strength. Instead, he lets it go, and coils his ivy a little tighter around it, settling it in place against his head.

Scar is - good, at times like this. He doesn’t try to make conversation, just sits and lets the silence settle back around them, and Doc has a full crown of roses by the time Mumbo sticks his head out to call the pair of them inside.

It’s a little easier to handle things, now that everyone has settled down around the table. The worst of the chatter dies down as they approach - Xisuma is already waiting for them, and his gaze, as it settles on Doc, is fond.

“Doc,” he asks, as Scar takes his own seat. “I was wondering if you wanted to start - you’ve spent the most time searching. Did you and Dream actually find any sign of Sam?”

Doc remains standing as he considers the question.

“A bit,” he agrees, after a moment. “We found Mumbo’s bedroll - waterlogged, and it was obvious that he’d changed spawn again, after placing it. No other sign of him in the upper jungle - some broken bamboo in the lower forest, but nothing fresh enough to track, not with rain rolling through as often as it has.”

“Mm.” Xisuma cocks his head. “Bdubs - Mumbo. You’ve been spending most of your time down there - you haven’t seen anything?”

“Nope!” Mumbo’s answer is - almost too easy, and Doc can see the way Dream’s eyes snap onto him. “Uh - we haven’t spent much time outside of the Tree, though, honestly - we’re working on a -”

“Chicken farm!” Bdubs interjects. “We’re putting together some animal farms, is all -”

“Private farms,” Mumbo adds. “The sort that we don’t need any help with, sorry, Doc -”

Doc snorts. “Sure, Mumbo.” He watches, out of the corner of his eye, as Dream leans in, a little closer to XIsuma, and murmurs something. The older admin glances over, smiles, puts a hand on his shoulder - even that is enough to make Dream flinch, but he doesn’t pull away as Xisuma whispers something back.

“You’re sure he’s not hiding out near your base, then?” Xisuma asks, after a moment. “I mean - you haven’t noticed anything?”

“I locked up my storage - no one’s tried to get in,” Bdubs agrees. “No one’s messed with the farm, either, or I’d have noticed.”

Mumbo hesitates, but adds, “There are, um. Traps. On the grounds. I wasn’t going to mention them, because -” he waves a hand at the group, and Scar snorts a laugh - “But. Yeah. I’m pretty sure he’d have run into something, if he was poking around.”

“He’s -” Dream starts - then hesitates, as the room’s attention turns to him, until Xisuma murmurs something else. An encouragement, probably, because Dream seems to straighten - “Sam is… one of the best survivalists I know. I doubt he’d fall for a trap unless it was perfectly camouflaged -”

“I’m very good at hiding that sort of thing,” Mumbo says mildly, with the flash of a grin at Scar. “But - even if he does avoid it, I’ve been checking them every day or so. I’d have noticed if someone was poking around, I’m sure.”

It’s Cleo who interjects, next. “He couldn’t have just - I don’t know. Left the server, right?” She gives Xisuma an apologetic glance. “I mean - I’m sure you’d notice, but… that’s what I’d do, if I were him.”

“He’s injured,” Doc says, as Xisuma nods.

“I’d have noticed him passing through the wards,” he agrees.

“He’s lying low,” Dream says, sounding more assured, this time. “I don’t know - it’s been a long time since we were close, but Sam’s always - he’s a survivalist, like I said. He wouldn’t leave, if he felt secure here - not until he’s healed up, had a chance to reprovision -”

“Sure.” But Cleo sounds - less certain. “I’m just saying - if I were him, I’d be gearing up to leave, after a week. No offense, but I feel like there’s a decent chance that if we keep an eye on each other for a couple more days, the problem just… goes away.”

And - it’s not like Doc hasn’t had the same thought, two days into combing through the impenetrable maze of the lower jungles, but…

“He could.” Dream’s voice cracks, a little, at that. “But - you don’t know him like I do. He’s - he likes to hurt people, to get in close so you trust him, and then tear you apart. He likes to break things.”

He falls silent, for a moment. No one interrupts.

“I just -” and there’s something lost, on the edge of Dream’s voice. “You’ve been - kind, to me. I don’t want him to take that out on your server, too.”

----

The meeting slows and eddies, after that. No one has seen a sign of Doc outside the jungle. No one has looked terribly hard, either - Cleo’s opinion seems to be the group consensus, and it sits, disquiet, between them.

Regardless, there’s agreement to keep eyes out, and look out for neighbors, and if Dream is disheartened by the scattering of disinterest, he keeps that to himself. He slips out as things draw to a close, before Doc can talk to him, and Doc is left to say his goodbyes before he can track the younger admin down.

He finds Dream in the garden, once the last guests have left, crouched down next to a flowerbed.

The admin looks up at Doc’s approach. There’s something wary in his gaze - but there always is, when it’s Doc he’s talking to, and Doc - he can sympathize. The kid - and he is a kid, for all he’s an admin, it’d be obvious in his face even if Xisuma hadn’t pulled his playerdata - is only human. Human, and scarred by another creeper hybrid, and that’s - enough to make someone wary, yeah.

Doc is kind enough to understand that. He’s not quite kind enough to avoid the kid in his own home.

Instead, he offers a hand, which Dream hesitates and reaches out for before not quite having the courage to take as he rises. Doc doesn’t comment, just lets it fall back to his side, and looks out across the flowers.

“They’re coming along nicely,” he says, inanely, giving the kid a chance to compose himself.

“They really are,” Dream agrees, easily, after a moment. “I’ve got to admit - I’m a little envious of all the things you guys have managed, here. The whole server is beautiful.”

“You should talk to Scar,” Doc tells him. “Maybe spend a day or two over at his base. He does gorgeous terraforming, he could probably teach you more in an afternoon than most people learn in their whole lives -”

“It wouldn’t last,” the admin tells him, with a snort. “Not on my server. Even without Sam, we’re not - not exactly the peaceful type.”

Doc gives a noncommittal hum, and nods, and paints in a little more of the half-formed picture he’s got of Dream’s server. It’s - different, than Xisuma’s server. Not bad, just…

Doc has lived on plenty of different claims, in his life. He’s seen enough of conflict that it’s not an alien thing to him, not like it is to Scar or Mumbo or even Bdubs, but…

“You could try, anyways,” he offers. “Just a little corner of the world, for you. Pretty the place up a bit. Maybe get some of your players in on it - they probably wouldn’t be as destructive, if they felt like they’d been a part of building things, too…”

Dream snorts.

“You don’t know my players,” he replies, which is fair, and all at once feels like an unreasonable indictment of a group of people that Doc will never meet.

“People change,” he offers, rather than try to argue, and Dream looks like there’s something he wants to say to that, and bites back, anyways.

“Mumbo and Bdubs were lying,” he says. “During the meeting, about building - farms. You know they were lying about that, right?”

“Sure.” Doc shrugs. “They’re probably cooking up - I don’t know, Bdubs isn’t usually the pranking type, but Mumbo definitely is. It could be anything.”

“You’re not worried about it?”

Doc snorts. “It won’t be anything bad,” he says, trying to press his confidence into the words so that Dream can hear it. “I mean - we prank each other all the time. Or it could be - I don’t know, a game, or a challenge - Zed is big on those, but the rest of us cook something up every now and then. Someone’s always working on something, around here - they’ll show us when they’re ready.”

“Oh.” Dream is quiet, for a minute. “The last time my players were working on something like that -”

He trails off, with a long, heavy breath, and Doc doesn’t push. He waits, as the younger admin collects his thoughts, and draws himself back in.

“You needed something?” he says, a moment later. “Or - I don’t know. Were you looking for me?”

Doc reaches out to set a hand on his shoulder, ignoring the flinch just like he ignores the change in subjects, and guides him over towards a bench.

“I wanted to ask -” Doc starts, when he’s sitting, Dream above him, balanced to sit on the back of the bench rather than the seat, where Doc has to turn to see him - and then he hesitates, because there’s something - unsteady, about the younger admin, like if Doc pushes too hard he’ll break something.

But Dream cocks his head, questioningly, and so Doc pushes forwards.

“Sam,” he says. “What made - he left your server. Why follow him, rather than - I don’t know. Just… letting him go?”

“Just letting him go?”

“He was a destructive influence on your server, sure.” Doc shrugs, and glances up at the moon, above, full and bright as it casts the server in blue shadows. “And making sure he couldn’t hurt anyone else - I get that. But - you’ve been away from your server how long, exactly?”

Dream is silent, for so long that Doc is worried, for a moment, that he’s offended the foreign admin. He’s hardly expecting an answer - the question had been half-rhetorical, so when Dream murmurs, “Three months,” it catches him off-guard.

“Three months?” He chokes on the words, not meaning to, and Dream looks over.

“Not quite,” he adds. “Closer to two and a half. Including the week on this server.”

That’s -

A long time, for an admin to be off-server. It’d be a long time for them - even Xisuma’s longest jaunts off-server have rarely been longer than a week, and they’d been enough to have the whole server tense until his safe return. Two months -

That’s an almost inconceivable loss. A void, tearing at the heart of the magics that hold the server together -

“That’s quite a while,” Doc says, rather than any of that.

Dream shrugs. “I’m handling it.” There’s a pause, between them, as if he’s weighing what to say. “I just - I need to bring him back.”

And Doc could leave it there, if he was the sort of man who ever just left things there, but -

“Why?”

It comes out maybe blunter than he means it.

“I just -” Dream lapses into silence, again, for a long, long moment. “He belongs there.”

Doc - could say any number of things to that, but he doesn’t. He gives Dream a moment to get his thoughts in order, and the admin, finally, lets out a long, slow breath.

“I - we have the prison. I can - keep him secure, prevent him from hurting anyone else.” He glances over, and there’s a cold, sharp edge to his gaze, like broken ice. “I can - I think he deserves to face the people he’s hurt. I think they deserve to know why they’re suffering.”

And that’s -

It’s a lot. And it’s the sort of thing that the vindictive bit of Doc gets, on an instinctual level, cruel and calculated and laid bare between them. When he was younger -

But he isn’t younger, anymore, and the child-admin in front of him is. And maybe he owes Dream something. Maybe he owes himself something, because -

“That’s fair,” he agrees, because it is. “But - you have to think about yourself, too. And your players. Don’t - don’t waste your life looking for revenge, Dream. He’s - I know he’s taken a lot from you - don’t let him take more while you try to -”

“He was my friend,” Dream cuts him off, and the words are frosted in grief - or maybe it’s just more anger, bitter and all along the edge of them. “I trusted him, and he turned his back on me and threw me in a cage.”

And that’s a lot, too. Layers of history, the sort that Doc doesn’t have the right to interject himself into the middle of, but he does anyways, because maybe he owes the kid that.

“We’ll find him,” Doc tells him. “Just - don’t let it eat you alive, Dream. You have friends who care about you. Take care of them. Don’t let Sam take them away, too.”

Dream meets his eyes, and, just for a moment, there’s something so hopelessly bleak in the younger admin’s gaze that it makes Doc’s chest ache -

Then it’s gone, shoved back and down and away, and Dream is scrambling to his feet, fists clenched at his side so hard that Doc can see the white in his knuckles.

“My players are fine,” Dream tells him, voice hard. “They’re - my mods are good, they’ll take care of them -”

He lies like he expects Doc not to notice, and freezes like he hadn’t realized until the words were already past his lips, eyes widening, just a hair. Doc is so startled by the sudden boldness that he hardly thinks to contradict the statement, and Dream seems to take that as permission, because he continues as if he hadn’t said anything wrong -

“They knew what I was coming here to do,” he says, voice just as convinced as before. “They - want to see him punished just as much as I do. Want to face him.”

It’s cold, and sure, and steady, as Dream turns, and strides back towards the castle, and the only thing left lingering is the burning sense of wrongness buried in Doc’s gut.

---

Doc lingers, in the dark of the garden, for a little while longer. The night is almost over, by the time he heads indoors, the sun just beginning to parch the distant sky.

It’s instinct, cold and learned, that has him hesitate, as he enters the grand hall of his build. Something - and he doesn’t know what, he can’t know what, is wrong -

He tastes the air, and there’s - something. Ozone, faint and distant, but this is his house - everything tastes like redstone, a little, and gunpowder, and the burnt-ozone curl of lightning -

That’s why he doesn’t sense the explosion coming until it’s too late. The force of the blast shreds him, flinging stone and wood and iron through him like shrapnel as he dies.

>Server<: Dream blew up

>Server<: xisumavoid blew up

>Server<: DocM77 blew up

The world goes black. The void yaws wide beneath him.

Chapter Text

Bdubs - isn’t the first to catch on.

That’s Mumbo, who scrambles and lunges upwards as Sam rolls sideways, grabbing Ethos’ leg as the smaller man goes “What -”

Ethos’ stance is steady, but the grab is at least enough distraction that the archer’s arrow sinks into treebark, rather than Sam. Who surges to his feet, ignoring the way that the sudden movement makes his head throb, and claws for his trident -

Only to have his potential target vanish, as Mumbo gets a better grip and drags him, backwards, off of the chicken farm.

There’s the sounds of a struggle, on the other side.

“Mumbo, what -”

“No - no, don’t call ‘suma, Ethos, let me explain -

“Ow, ow, Ethos, stop -”

“Stop that -”

It’s enough to make his heart sink in his chest, and Sam surges upward, until he’s the one on top of the chicken farm, his trident at his side, the chicken bubbler close enough that he could dip the trident in and run if he has to, but -

But it doesn’t look like the other three players are really fighting. Ethos is pinned against Mumbo’s chest, one hand buried and tugging at the taller player’s hair, his other arm wrapped in Bdubs, who is trying, somewhat unsuccessfully, to pry off his comm.

Sam hesitates, and then points the trident at his chest, anyways, because he’s - not sure what else to do.

“Stop,” he commands, and Ethos freezes - just long enough for Bdubs to get the comm away from him, and look up, clutching it to his chest with a panicked yelp as he throws himself in front of the other player.

“Wait, no -!” he shouts, eyes huge. “Uh - no! Ethos’ - Ethos’ good, he’s a friend -”

Ethos’ not to be underestimated, Sam learns a moment later, when the player takes advantage of the distraction to muscle Mumbo off-balance, reach forwards, and drag Bdubs to his knees. He’s got the smaller player in front of him - keeps him there, like a human shield, as he wrests back control of the comm, and the only thing that stops Sam from putting a trident through his head is the fact that the death message will give him away as sure as anything -

But Ethos doesn’t call his admin. He sits there, for a moment, staring up at Sam like he’s waiting for something, and then lets Bdubs go.

“Ow,” he says, reaching for his side as he rises. “A little gentler, next time, Mumbo?”

“I’m sorry -” Mumbo sounds - flustered, and more than a little embarrassed. “It’s - uh, don’t tell ‘suma. Obviously. Or Dream. Or Doc.”

Ethos snorts. “Especially not Doc. Sure.” His gaze returns to Sam, steady and cool. “So why are you hiding Dream’s renegade in your base, exactly?”

---

Bdubs bundles them all inside, when it’s obvious that Ethos is, at least, willing to hear them out.

It’s - hard to shake the tension of the moment. The part of Sam that’s survived this long is clawing at the idea of bringing himself into a confined space with an enemy - but whatever threat Ethos intends seems to have subsided, somewhat, in the easy way Bdubs grabs his hand and drags him into the tree.

Ethos, in fact, looks almost curious. It’s impossible to miss the little glances he flicks at Sam, but he doesn’t speak, listening intently, instead, as Mumbo and Bdubs hastily reiterate their meetings -

“I mean, I can kind of see why he thought I was attacking him,” Mumbo says, as they reach the living room. Ethos settles on the couch, Bdubs sprawling beside him like a pile of leaves as Sam, somewhat awkwardly, sinks into the chair. “I did just… drop out of a tree on top of him, that first time. And he didn’t hurt me the second until Doc snuck up on him -”

“Mumbo,” Ethos says, and there’s something fond curling on the edge of his voice, even though his gaze is impassive. Mumbo cuts himself off, but Ethos just cocks his head, with the slightest slip of a smile. “Relax.”

“Uh -”

It doesn’t do anything to dissipate the faint simmer of anxiety trickling through the room, but Mumbo seems to calm down, a little, at that, and slumps into a chair. “So…”

“So.”

It’s odd, feeling like he’s being picked apart by the white-haired player’s gaze Sam is… used to being the one whose stare intimidates people, the one whose eyes no one will meet. Being on the other end of that is disorienting, and Ethos’ face gives away nothing of what he’s thinking, and Sam -

He’s glad for the mask, for once.

“Doc wants you dead,” Ethos says, finally. “Not, ah - permanently, or anything, but -”

He waves a hand with the airy carelessness of an immortal.

“And Xisuma wants you off the server,” he adds, before his gaze shifts to Bdubs. “Why haven’t you at least let him know -?”

The pile of moss shifts uneasily, brown eyes peeking out before Bdubs unfolds himself.

“Well, it’s…” he trails off, squirming a little, not meeting the taller player’s eyes. “So -”

“I was hurt,” Sam interjects on his behalf. “When he found me. I - broke into his storage, passed out in the corner… he was worried I wouldn’t survive, if Xisuma kicked me from the server.”

Ethos glances back at him, and then down at Bdubs with a soft huff.

“You’re too nice, B.”

“‘Suma wouldn’t let anything happen to me,” Bdubs tells him, with all the confidence of a man saying the sun will rise, and Ethos laughs.

“I wasn’t planning on staying.” Bdubs has never held his theft against him, or Mumbo, but… “I tried to make it to the border the next day, but Mumbo caught me, and I was running a fever -”

“I stepped on him, and he just kind of collapsed,” Mumbo offers. “And then he tried to run away while Bdubs and I talked things out, and he fell the rest of the way down the tree. He wasn’t in any condition for the Borderwilds -”

“You think Xi would just kick a sick player out?” Ethos says, and, for the first time, Sam can make out reproach in his tone.

Even if he couldn’t hear it, it would be obvious in the way Bdubs and Mumbo both flinch, the movement reflexive and physical. “No -!” Mumbo starts to protest, immediately, as Bdubs opens his own mouth to argue, and -

“They told me he wouldn’t,” Sam says, quietly, because that’s not fair. “They - wanted me to talk to him, but… my admin…”

“Dream?” Ethos presses, when he falls silent, and Sam nods.

“We - I haven’t had a lot of luck, with admin,” he admits. “And - I thought that as soon as I was strong enough, I’d leave. I wasn’t expecting Dream to be in the server with me - I didn’t think it’d be anything more than a little inconvenience -”

“He thought we’d let him go while he was still wobbling back and forth any time he stood up, is what he though,” Mumbo adds, with a snort, and Bdubs nods furiously in agreement.

“He’s the worst patient,” he tells the white-haired man. “As bad as Doc -”

“I haven’t bitten off anyone’s fingers!” Sam protests, and Ethos - laughs.

He laughs, and all the nervous energy in the room just - evaporates. Like that.

“Prime,” he offers. “You guys. You have to tell Xi, you know that? He’s - Prime, Doc’s been scrambling around in the jungle all week -”

“It’s good for him,” Mumbo offers. “You know he spends too much time cooped up in his lab -”

“I mean, yeah, but -” Ethos’ gaze settles on Sam for another moment, but this time, there’s something warm that wasn’t there before, and the flicker of a smile on his lips. “Prime. Welcome to Hermitcraft, Sam. I’m Ethos. Sorry for almost shooting you.”

“Sorry for almost putting a trident through you,” Sam says, reaching out for the offered hand. “Um - and all the trouble.”

But Ethos laughs at that, too, smile growing a little wider.

“Don’t worry about it. Usually, we have to make our own excitement around here.” He glances towards the kitchen, then nods his head. “But - I won’t lie, Dream talking about this prison of yours had me… curious. Can we grab a mug of cocoa, and you tell me about it?”

And Bdubs scrambles to his feet, grinning, as Mumbo reaches out to help haul Sam to his feet.

-----

It becomes obvious, as they talk, that Ethos doesn’t trust him.

Not entirely. And - it’s fair, more than fair, because at least Ethos is giving him a chance to explain.

It’s in every question he asks, as Sam talks him through the build - all the little details that wouldn’t matter, if he was just sharing a redstone concept, but that reflect instead on him. On Dream, and the year in prison, and -

“Dream said you tortured him.”

It’s the bluntest that the white-haired man has been yet, as they look at the diagram of the lavafall, and Sam can see out of the corner of his eyes the way Bdubs goes still at the sink.

“I didn’t torture him,” Sam tells him, bluntly. “I - let Quackity do it. His idea, not mine.”

It’s a thread-thin defense - and he’s not trying to defend himself, not really. That might be why, when Ethos looks up at him, Sam meets his gaze, levelly, and says,

“I might have.” It’s too blunt, but… “If he didn’t offer. Tommy and I were - he was…”

He doesn’t have the words to explain that. His voice cracks, and he pushes past it.

“Dream beat him to death in front of me.”

The quiet hiss of a breath pulled between Ethos’ teeth is unmistakable, in the sudden silence that’s consumed the kitchen. Bdubs and Mumbo know, obviously, but -

“It was his third life. He didn’t get to come back.” And he’s too cold, they’re going to turn on him, but - “So I let Quackity have what he wanted. I don’t regret it.”

No one says anything, for a long, long moment.

Ethos is the one to break the silence, though, focus dropping back to the papers in front of him. “Fair enough,” he says, rather than - than the indictment that Sam is waiting for. Just that, and nothing else. “So - the lowest levels. That’s source blocks, right? So that someone trying to escape with a water bucket will glass the whole thing into lava?”

The whiplash of the moment is enough to make Sam choke on it, for a moment. “Uh -”

And all at once he’s scrambling, because in no way does that feel like enough, but Ethos has already moved on to the sublevel design, and he knows the answers to those questions - right up until Ethos slaps him across the heart with a question about Ranboo -

He’d mind, more, if he couldn’t see why Ethos was doing it. Prying at him like an expert interrogator, keeping him off-balance and on edge until he’s dizzy with it, cracking him open like an egg and draining all the answers out of him.

Ethos’ sleeve catches on the edge of the table, once. It pulls up, above the tops of his gloves, and Sam knows by the maze of scars there that this isn’t the first time Ethos has picked someone apart.

Eventually, though, it peters out. The questions about himself become more scattered, as they reach the more complex redstone layers - replaced by what feels like genuine curiosity, and Sam lets himself be a little proud, because the prison was a cage for him as much as Dream, sure, but it was a masterwork. Ethos’ questions about it are clever, insightful things, his mastery of redstone engineering obvious in the way he asks them -

- which means it’s about when they get to the Elder Guardians that he finally realizes -

“You used adjustable relay clocks to time the guardians, then?” the white-haired player says, a grin playing over his lips that doesn’t yet make sense. “Oh. So there’s really no gap where a player could -”

“- take advantage, and break a block,” Sam acknowledges, with a nod. “On a slightly short loop - ethoclocks were -”

And then his brain catches up to his mouth, and he registers what he’s saying, eyes shooting up, because -

“Oh.” He leans back from the table, ignoring the snorting laugh that Mumbo makes. “You’re - that Ethos -”

He knows he looks like an idiot - wide-eyed and oblivious, apparently, but Ethos only grins.

“It’s a clever idea,” he says. “Must’ve taken you forever to get the guardians into minecarts. Especially on limited lives -”

“Dream helped,” Sam tells him. “This was back when he thought Tommy was going to wind up in the prison, instead of him - wait, no, but you’re that Ethos?”

“One and the same,” and Sam can see the laughter reflecting in his eyes. But -

“You’re - I’m pretty sure you’re dead,” he says. “Like - permanently. You - everyone says you died -”

Bdubs snorts, at that. “He got better!”

“I retired,” the white-haired player agrees. “I had some - people who were looking for me, and it was easier if I just… disappeared. Dinnerbone owed me a favor, and Xi was looking for players, so -”

“It’s an open secret,” Mumbo adds. “Don’t go - I don’t know, spreading it around if you do get to Hypixel, but everyone on the server knows.”

“That’s -”

It’s a lot to trust a stranger with, and Ethos, at least, seems to get that. There’s laughter in his gaze as he cocks his head at Sam. “If I’d been that worried about the occasional person finding out, I would’ve changed my name. Relax.”

---

He does, eventually, manage to relax about it, enough to get back into the swing of explaining the Vault - and by the time sun is just starting to pale the horizon, they’ve moved on to something else, a diagram of a mechanical augment that Mumbo and Ethos both seem intimately familiar with. Enough so that they don’t complain when he slides the diagrams out from under Mumbo’s palms to peruse them himself, as the two of them argue about - he’s not one hundred percent sure, honestly, something about waterproofing, and inefficient temperature dispersal damaging existing optic nerve -

And they’ve both got reasonable points, from what he’s managing to pick up, but neither of them has even considered hollowing out the lower casing and backfilling it with gold to act as a heat sink. He’s sitting there, sketching lightly over the design with a pencil, trying to formulate the best way to propose the change, when the very air around them twists, a sudden, momentary wrong as the whole server loses half a tick of lag -

And then the sound of the blast hits, a wave of noise, hollowed out by distance, and yet still so obviously an explosion that Sam is scrambling to his feet before he can even process it.

Ethos is up, too, and Mumbo, ignoring their comms buzzing with the cagey expressions of redstoners waiting for the next explosion in the chain to hit. Sam stumbles backwards, away from the window, bracing.

Bdubs, of course, runs up to it, but that’s - fine, probably. The blast must be distant - it’s not going to reach -

“That’s Doc’s build,” Bdubs says, eyes huge. “I mean - that’s the right direction, but he’s chunks from here -”

“That’d have to be -” Ethos steels himself, and joins him at the window a moment later, Mumbo just behind him. Sam is the most wary of them, but even he follows, after another beat of silence, to stare up at the graying sky dyed orange on the horizon -

And then, at last, Bdubs glances down at his comm.

“Dream,” he says, voice - taut, like he’s confused and not quite scared yet, but - “And Doc. And ’suma. All three of them, together, by explosion.”

He looks up. “Dream went first,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, and Mumbo is already pulling out his elytra as he says it.

“Come on,” he tells the other two. “Sam, uh -”

“Stay here,” Ethos interjects, before Mumbo can say anything else. “Don’t try to leave the server.”

The instructions are - curt, all of his earlier friendliness bled away into a thin cold line of tension. Bdubs glances back at Sam, almost like he wants to protest, but Ethos gestures for him, sharply.

“We need to go check on Doc,” he says, and Bdubs only hesitates a moment before nodding.

“Right,” he says, voice shaking just a hair. “We’ll, uh - be back. Just - stay here.”

“Of course,” Sam says, because he’s not going to do anything that would keep them any longer, not while their friend is in danger - he owes them better than that. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

And that, at least, seems to be enough - Mumbo turns, and takes the stairs two at a time, Bdubs and Ethos only a little slower behind him as they equip their own wings and race up to the roof.

Chapter Text

Doc staggers through respawn.

Xisuma appears a moment later, looking vaguely dazed with the strain of three respawns so close together, and disoriented at his own, sudden death, and Doc at least manages to catch the admin before he can fall. Dream is already sprawled, wild-eyed, on the floor at his feet.

“What -” Xisuma manages, and trails off, blinking, because none of them, obviously, are in their beds -

It takes more than a moment to make sense of the world around them, even for Doc.

“Worldspawn?” he says, clawing desperately for the confused memories of his last moments that will help him make sense of what the void just happened -

Heat. Pain. His body being torn apart.

He doesn’t remember what, exactly, killed him.

“An explosion,” Dream says, filling in that little missing shard of information as he scrambles to his feet. “Look at our comms - something exploded -”

The confusion shifts, warping into worry, deep in Doc’s gut. “Xi -”

“Stay here.” And the confusion has bled away from his admin, all at once. He shoves - rougher than he means to, probably - himself upright, braced against Doc, and his gaze is already distant as he gestures to Dream. “Keep an eye on him,” he commands, and then the world warps around him and he’s gone.

Dream stares, wide-eyed, at the spot where he vanished. Then his gaze shoots to Doc, who is already digging a spare set of armor out of a chest, sword in hand to replace his absent trident -

And there’s something like terror in the way his eyes go wide.

“Wait!” he says, voice hoarse, and Doc watches in confusion as he scrambles back, arm thrown across his chest defensively. “No - please, I didn’t do it -”

It makes no sense. Nor does the way he cowers back when Doc grabs the second sword from the chest and steps towards him, not until -

Oh.

It registers - what he must look like, to Dream; how the younger admin has misinterpreted Xisuma’s command, and all at once anger twists in Doc’s chest, because however worried he is about his own house, this is worse -

He drops the swords into inventory, and raises his hands, instead.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, forcing that anger out of his voice. He’s not angry at Dream. From the flinch he gets - he doubts he manages entirely, but… “Sh, Dream, it’s okay. Whatever happened, Xi wasn’t trying to blame you. I don’t think you did it. He wanted me to keep you safe.”

The look Dream gives him is - bewildered. “Safe?”

“We’re at worldspawn,” Doc tells him, letting the sword drop back into his hand, and proffering it to the younger admin hilt-first. “I don’t think Sam would try to ambush us here, if it was him who blew us up, but…”

He readies his own weapon anyways, as he trails off, because he’s not willing to take that risk.

Dream looks - more relieved than Doc expected, honestly, and a part of him warms at the thought that the younger admin is starting to offer that little bit of trust to him. Even if the wariness doesn’t quite leave his gaze, as he lets himself be helped to his feet, and ventures over to the chests to grab fresh armor of his own while Doc keeps watch.

There’s something off to the way he’s moving, though -

“Did something go wrong with your respawn?” Doc asks, stepping forwards, again, just in case something is really going wrong just below the surface. It’s rare that an admin fails to completely respawn a player, but it happens - even if Doc has never seen Xisuma mess up a respawn -

Dream waves him off, though.

“No, I’m - fine,” he says, like he’s not sure how to explain the limp. “Just - I wasn’t expecting Admin Xisuma to handle my respawn for me. I had already started to gather the magic for it when he dragged me out of the void first.”

“You’re okay, though, right?” At the nod, Doc lets himself relax, a little - the admin would know better than him if something was off. “Does it hurt?”

“Not much,” Dream assures him. “Just - aches, a little. The power will diffuse, again, in a few minutes.”

“Ah.” That - sounds reasonable. But - “You can tell Xi, if you’d rather handle your own respawns. I think it’s reflex for him, at this point, but he’d probably be fine with letting you handle them yourself."

Dream - looks like he's considering that, but shakes his head, after just another moment. "No. I mean - it's fine. He's - strong, isn't he?"

"The strongest," Doc assures him, because Xisuma is, the rock-solid core of their world, and Dream laughs.

They finish equipping their gear in silence. Once that's done, there's - nothing to do but wait, really, and give what little information he can in answer to the flood of worried messages he’s getting from the rest of the server - confused and curious pings, offers to help -

It’s maybe fifteen minutes later that Xisuma pings him, the message coming in private, rather than on the public channels.

[Xisumavoid] >whisper<: Grab Dream

[Xisumavoid] >whisper<: Teleport in 1 minute

It’s unusually curt, for the admin - brisk enough to have Doc scrambling to his feet.

“Sorry,” he says, as Dream startles at his sudden movement. He reaches out, grabbing the admin’s wrist as it comes up to block his face. “Xisuma just commed - he’s going to teleport us to him in about thirty seconds -”

“Oh.” Dream scrambles upright, and for the first time, willingly lets Doc drag him in close.

Gunpowder-bright power fizzes across Doc’s skin, and worldspawn scatters around them a moment later. He squeezes his`eyes shut against it, against the dizzying disorientation, and then Xisuma is there, holding him up by the shoulders as he sways on the solid ground once more beneath his feet.

He opens his eyes, and Xisuma is filling… almost his whole vision, honestly.

“I’m sorry,” his admin says - a nonsequitor, because Doc is fine -

And then scent and taste and hearing trickle back into his awareness. The air tastes like char. The air smells like ozone, and gunpowder, and smoke.

The ground beneath his feet isn’t gravel, but shattered chunks of stone strewn across dark soil. There’s little chunks of wood, too - one as big as his forearm juts from the ground a few feet away, and -

And Doc needs to know what happened. Needs to see -

He nudges Xisuma back, a little, and the admin hesitates but moves willingly, and if Doc hadn’t spent the last year in this jagged bit of cliff on the edge of a jungle, he wouldn’t know where he was.

The cliff is carved away. The castle is - gone, definitionally. There’s nothing left of it but rubble and stone and one broad, sculpting wall, standing lonely and defiant in the boulder-studded wreckage of his gardens . Even the outer walls have taken damage - the whole cliffside is pocked with craters, the stone above them collapsing under the weight of battlements.

“Oh,” Doc manages, looking up at it but not seeing, because the scale of the damage - it’s enormous - “Oh.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Xisuma tells him, gently. “We’re going to fix all this.”

And Doc -

Doc doesn’t usually like to be touched, but - just for once - he goes into it willingly, and doesn’t try to protest when Xisuma drags him in close for a hug.

-----

They break apart after only a moment, of course.

They have - things they need to do. Doc needs to pick through the wreckage, a little, taking the time to process what he’s looking at, and Xisuma steps away to comm - Doc isn’t sure who, exactly.

Dream trails after him like a whisper of smoke, moving as easily as Doc through the shredded stone. He doesn’t say anything, and that’s - a kindness, honestly. Doc doesn’t know if there’s anything to say, in the face of the destruction, and there’s a great and terrible grief welling up in his chest, and -

- and he doesn’t need the younger admin to see that. He isn’t sure that he wants anyone to see it - there’s something too close, about it, like a wound that needs to be hidden so that no one can see the weakness of it.

Xisuma follows after them, a few minutes later. He doesn’t say anything, either, but Doc’s known him for a long time. He can see the horror in the way Xisuma’s fingers tremble - hesitant to touch anything, where once they had so confidently traced the smooth lines of the stonework.

Doc isn’t not surprised by how quickly Ren arrives, landing with an elytran thud - or when Bdubs and Mumbo land next to him a few moments later. Ethos being with them is - more surprising, but he nods curtly at Xisuma before shrugging at Doc’s questioning glance.

“I was already at Bdubs’,” he says, by way of explanation. “I had a few more questions for Mumbo about -”

He taps his own red eye, and Doc nods his understanding.

“Thanks for coming,” he tells all of them, and his voice sounds - distant, even to him.

Ethos doesn’t comment on it, mercifully. Instead, he steps forwards, examining the ruins with an expert’s eye. “This is -”

“TNT damage,” Doc interjects. “Lots of it.”

The white-haired player glances over at him, then up at the cliffside above them, where the force of the blasts had flung individual blocks of explosives to pockmark the stone.

“Agreed,” he concurs gracefully. “But to do this much damage - five, maybe six stacks?”

“This -” it’s Dream who speaks, next, before Xisuma can. “It looks like -”

He trails away without making the accusation, voice cracking on the words, but Xisuma looks back at him. “Like Sam?”

Dream nods, wordless, and Doc can see the way the others shift uncomfortably at his obvious fear. He steps forwards, lays a hand on the younger admin’s shoulder, and can see the flinch in the briefest moment before Dream leans gratefully into the touch.

“I’ve seen this kind of damage before,” Dream tells them, when he’s steadied himself, a little. “Our server - we had a couple of players who could wire up an explosion like this. Sam… definitely could. And he’s the sort of person who’d keep a couple stacks of TNT in his inventory. Even back on my server.”

He lets out a hoarse little laugh, and Doc doesn’t question it, not when his grief is so plain.

“We’ll find him,” Xisuma murmurs, instead, the soft words distant as he turns to draw up his admin screen. “Ren - Sam must have been here recently, to set this off. He’s alone on the server, he can’t have left by stasis pearl - see if you can pick up a trail into the jungle.”

Ren looks at Doc, and gives a short, sympathetic flicker of a smile. “Of course,” he nods - and then he’s off, low to the ground as he moves easily between the rubble.

There’s a moment’s pause, then -

“I’ll go with him,” Dream says, quietly. “I’m not going to be much use, here -”

Xisuma nods, and he’s away, darting like a light-footed green arrow after the wolf hybrid.

The admin’s focus shifts to the rest of them- and there’s something like relief in his eyes, as he takes in the players who have already shown up.

“Ethos,” He says. “Can you - if we can find any unexploded TNT, I can pull placerdata from it. You and Doc are probably best-suited -”

“To figuring out how this would’ve been laid?” Ethos glances over at Doc, then nods. “We should stick together. I’d assume that Sam didn’t stick around, but…”

There’s always the chance of an ambush. Doc nods.

“We’ll start low, then?” he asks, and Ethos nods, and turns -

Xisuma turns away, too. He’s discussing something with Mumbo, but it doesn’t matter. Doc has work to do, something to do, and that’s - grounding. He latches onto it with both hands, and trails behind Ethos as they trudge off into the ruins of his base. It doesn’t even cross his mind to question it when Bdubs follows on their heels, silent as a ghost.

-----

It’s almost an hour later when they reconvene, back on top of the rubble of his base. Others have trickled in to help - Cleo and False are conversing over their axes from atop a wrecked column, keeping a wary watch out towards the jungle; Zedaph and Tango are sitting with Dream, while Impulse has a hushed conversation with Xisuma -

Even Chef has shown up, surfaceside in the warm mid-morning sun to survey the rubble with an expert’s eye, and it - it’s good. Doc closes his eyes to block out the ruin, for a moment, and listens to his friends’ voices, all around him, and lets it just be good, and then opens them and gets back to work.

Mumbo’s hair is a fuzzy mess, arms streaked with ash and redstone dust, fingers stained with it. He grins joylessly when Doc sees him.

“Disarmed a bit of redstone that survived, over by the gate,” he announces. “‘Suma’s not getting anything else live in these chunks. Sorry.”

At least it’s one less thing for the admin to worry about, and Doc manages a nod of gratitude for that.

“We didn’t find any surviving TNT,” he relays. “Looks like it was a clean blast. Some of my deep storage survived - I had an impulse sorter going down to a sealed-off sublevel that he must have missed - but beyond that…”

It’s - not quite as bad as restarting after a server move. On an academic level, he knows that. His friends will help him rebuild. He still has resources of his own, and Xisuma will fix as much as he can, but -

There’s a cold sense of grief, to losing months, years of work so suddenly. It settles between them all, a mutual understanding, and lingers for a moment, and then they shove it aside and keep going like they always do.

“The good news is, I have a backdated copy of these chunks that should be clear enough to restore,” Xisuma says, next. “We’ll need to get anything you want to keep out of the basement, and then I can reset the chunks and see about reverting them, but it should get you back to around a month ago, and I’m sure the rest of us can help you fix things up from there -”

That is a spot of brightness, but -

“I can build it back manually, if that’s going to put a strain on you, Xi,” Doc tells him. “Or we can wait until -”

He glances at Dream, trying not to be too obvious, but -

“- this mess gets resolved -”

“I’ll see,” Xisuma says, after a moment. “I’ll run some numbers - I might be able to do a chunk-by-chunk restore, or if you’re okay with putting it off… we’ll see.”

His gaze shifts to Ren. “Did you find anything?”

“Not much,” Ren says, ears back, tail low. “I mean - Prime, Doc, I’m sorry, but the whole place stinks of gunpowder and ash. There’s no way I’m tracking a half-creeper in all of that, not unless you have a fresh scent to put me on - even if I follow a trail out into the jungle, there’s every chance that it’ll just be you.”

“It was a long shot,” Doc tells him. “Dream warned us that he was a survivalist - even if you did find a good trail, there’s every chance it’d be trapped. We don’t need any more dead hermits today, not if we can avoid it.”

Xisuma hums his agreement, and steps back, just enough that he’s addressing Dream, too.

“For the moment, at least, I think both of you should come stay with me,” he offers. “I’m halfway across the server, and it’s easier to keep an eye on things in my own base…”

Harder for Sam to target Dream, is what he means, Doc knows, but he nods, anyways - it’s not like his base is livable, and Bdubs and Mumbo have their project, even if he’d prefer to stay close.

Still -

“That’ll leave these two -” he gestures at them - “on their own, out here -”

He can see by the way Xisuma shifts that he’s exactly as comfortable with that thought as Doc is.

It’s Ethos who sweeps in to save the day, though.

“I can stay with them,” he offers, and Mumbo looks over in obvious surprise. “I mean - Mumbo and I are already working on a couple of things together, and I stumbled into their ‘secret project’ last night. Between me and Bdubs, we should be more than capable of keeping an eye out.”

“That works.” And - Doc catches, for just a moment, the flash of… something, in Dream’s gaze. A look like - he wants to argue, or protest, maybe, but he’s holding it back -

It’s gone just as soon as it appears, though, and his head ducks in agreement as Xisuma continues. “I’ll teleport us over in a moment, Dream - we have to get you trained up on elytra. Doc, do you want to come with, or…?”

He trails off, and Doc considers, for a moment, but -

“I’ll follow you up later,” he says, finally. “I think I - want a bit more chance to dig around, first -”

And Xisuma’s gaze is all sympathy, as he nods, and takes the younger admin’s hand, and the pair of them flicker and vanish as the world around them warps, and ripples, and goes smooth.

-----

Omake

-----

Bdubs loves Ethos - really, he does.

It’s why he - gets it. He’d get it, if Ethos looked out at the jagged rubble of Doc’s base, and decided that he and Mumbo were both idiots, and spilled the whole story about Sam and them to their admin then and there -

But Ethos doesn’t. He goes with Doc, and Bdubs follows along - not to stop him, not that he thinks he could, but - well -

Sam is his friend, too, and if Ethos turns him in, he owes it to the creeper not to let him get dragged in by surprise. Even if they both know that Sam isn’t making it across the border before XIsuma would be on him - he at least deserves a warning -

But Ethos’ work is - meticulous. His poker face is good, too, and worry coils in Bdubs gut as another thought occurs to him -

Because what if Ethos doesn’t believe Sam? What if he doesn’t get that there’s no way the creeper has been in any state to go rig up Doc’s base in the scant hours they haven’t been watching him? What if -

Ethos’ hand buries itself in his hair, fingers scratching lightly at his scalp, and all the thoughts digging their way into him just - scatter.

“You’re overthinking things,” Ethos says, and that could mean anything, except Ethos has a gentle smile on his lips, the sort that feels like it’s just for Bdubs. “Relax, okay? Everything’s going to be fine.”

Doc, at their side, grunts something inarticulate and exhausted, but then, the reminder isn’t really meant for him, so that’s - okay.

“Yeah,” Bdubs agrees, and smiles back, and then reaches up to twine his fingers with Ethos’, because - they’re doing something useful. If they can find some TNT -

“Over here,” he says, and lets unerring instinct guide him over to a crack, deep in the rock, that they haven’t checked yet.

It doesn’t lead to anything. Nothing they search does - every new crater is as empty as the last - but that almost doesn’t matter. By the time they head back to Xisuma, Bdubs feels - lighter, somehow, and even Doc seems to have lost some of the tightness in his gaze, and -

It’s going to be okay, maybe.

Everything’s going to be fine.

Chapter Text

Sam doesn’t run.

He - thinks about it, sure. But Bdubs and Mumbo - they’ve been honest with him, so far. Kind, even, and the thought of lying to them, of trying to leave without even a real goodbye, rankles.

And Ethos -

The redstoner has been more than fair to him. Had listened, when Sam told his story, and that’s more than he’s had any right to ask for. But the trust, there, is razor-thin - both of them know it, and Sam is smart enough to know that leaving will shatter it, completely.

And Ethos will have no reason not to go to Xisuma.

And Xisuma’s anger, if Sam really is gone, will have nowhere else to fall but on Bdubs and Mumbo, for sheltering him. Dream’s anger will have nothing else to destroy, if he bothers to wait long enough to take revenge before following Sam into the borderwilds - and only the fact that Sam knows how deep that obsession runs keeps that thought from terrifying him.

Still, he’s not an idiot.

He’s got a chance, of course, even if they do tell Xisuma where to find him. Admin’s powers are tremendous, sure, but he’s defied an admin before - they have their limits, and right now, Xisuma doesn’t have his playerdata.

It means, at least, that he’s as strong as he’ll ever be against the admin’s influence.

Which means that the first thing he does, after the three of them leave, is head into his bedroom and break the bed they’ve given him. He replaces it a moment later, of course, squirming a little at the unspun, lose feeling of just existing on a server without the tether of a set spawn, but at least, if it comes to that, Xisuma won’t be able to use it against him -

Which leaves, of course, the issue of where he wants to respawn, if he ever gets that chance.

Not that it really matters, he reflects, as he heads down into the stump of the tree. If it comes to it, the moment he dies is the moment that Xisuma has access to everything - his code, his respawn permissions, his playerdata.

There won’t be any running. Not anymore.

That’s why he doesn’t bother to spend too long hiding his second bed. It gets buried a few blocks under the floor of Bdub’s tree, the logs carefully replaced so that a cursory glance won’t give the location away, and he leaves it at that.

And then -

He wouldn’t quite call it hiding. He just… takes a little food, and something to drink, and a few sheets of paper, and if he chooses to craft a pair of shears and make himself a little den in the leaves of Bdubs’ tree, where he can see the whole farm and anyone who comes in to land on it -

Well, no, he’s definitely hiding, but it’s better than having someone come upon him while he’s unawares.

He spends his time doodling. The sort of wild, fanciful thing that he hasn’t had the chance to really do since - since well before the vault, at least. The buildings he’s sketching, the builds - they’re the sort of thing he used to love, before he had - responsibilities -

They flow from his fingertips easier than he expected, as he lets his mind drift, and when he at last comes back into himself and looks down at his work, he’s - caught off guard, by the designs. It’s like -

- it’s like looking back at his younger self, in the long, thin towers of a marble spire, in the undefended, arcing columns of a cathedral -

And it aches.

He folds the papers away, after that, and curls up, and tries not to think about anything as his hands slowly tear one leaf after another into long, thin strips.

-----

It’s almost noon, he’s pretty sure, by the time he hears the whip-fire blast of rockets overhead.

Three bodies land in the garden, and rationally he knows that it’s Mumbo, and Bdubs, and Ethos, but the part of him that’s scared says Xisuma, and Ethos, and Dream -

But an admin wouldn’t fly, would they? They’d just warp in, not risk him hearing their approach.

It makes sense. It doesn’t stop him from dragging himself upright silently, slow and wary and cautious, to try to peek through the -

“Sam?” Bdubs calls, too loud, from halfway across the garden, and Sam chokes, foot slipping on the branch as the sound makes panic flare in his chest -

“Shout a little louder, Bdubs!” Mumbo says. “Really make sure that Doc can hear you -”

“I mean -” But Bdubs sounds suitably chagrined. “Uh -”

“Relax, B.” That’s - Ethos, and as far as Sam can hear, it’s just the three of them. “He’s probably inside -”

Sam slinks slower through the leaves, until he can make out - nothing. It’s just the three of them, elytra flared around them, haloed by the hot midday sun. And - Dream could be there, or Xisuma, invisible, but…

He scrambles out of the tree anyways, because if all three of them have betrayed him, he’s not getting away. “I’m here,” he calls, and three sets of eyes turn on him. “What happened -?”

“Someone blew up Doc’s house.” Ethos’ voice is - blunt. “Rigged the whole place up with TNT and detonated it under them.”

“I -” And that’s - he’s just spend all night proving that he has the know-how to do something like that -

He can’t help but take a step back, waiting for the accusations, waiting for the blame. “I didn’t do it,” he says, helpless, mind racing for some way to defend himself - “I swear, I had nothing to do with it -

Panic is catching in his throat by the time Bdubs steps forward, reaching out for him. He doesn’t - he can’t run -

But Bdubs just drags him closer, until he can press a hand to the side of Sam’s face, and Sam stares down at him and tries to think -

“Sam,” the smaller player murmurs. “Sam, it’s okay. I - we don’t think you did. Sh, it’s okay -”

And Sam looks up at the other two -

Mumbo is nodding. Ethos looks… less convinced, but Mumbo glances at him, too.

“He couldn’t have,” he agrees. “We - he’s not been in any state to get that far through the jungle, and even if he was faking that, I don’t think he’s been along for more than an hour or two in the last three days.”

Bdubs nods, and there’s something fond in the little smile he offers. “He’s horrible about overworking himself. Not quite as bad as Doc, but…”

He trails off, and Sam can’t help the gratitude that boils up in his chest. The relief -

“It’s okay,” Bdubs murmurs, again. “Come on. Let’s grab something to eat, and we’ll tell you about it -”

-----

He’s bundled inside, and onto the couch, curled under a warm, soft blanket that feels, honestly, like a shield. There’s a relief, in Ethos’ cool gaze not being able to see all of him, even if it’s mostly just in his head.

Whatever tension is strung between them, Bdubs doesn’t seem to take any notice of it. He bumbles around the kitchen, pressing a bowl of soup into his hands.

They’re all covered in dust, little bits of ash and burnt paper fluttering in their hair, so the conversation dies down a little as they take turns going to get cleaned up. It’s a relief, honestly - a chance to sip his soup, and drag himself inward, and think for a little bit.

He feels - better, by the time Bdubs settles, still-damp and cross-legged, next to Ethos, who is fiddling with his own diagram on a sheet of scrap paper.

“So!” he starts, as Sam sets the still half-full bowl on his knee. “Doc’s house. Someone wired it up to explode.”

“A chain blast,” Ethos adds. “Nothing too complicated. They set it off from a point within the house - the subsequent explosions made figuring out exactly where impossible, obviously.”

“Dream is blaming you.” Mumbo - probably doesn’t mean it as bluntly as it comes out.

And Sam - Sam hesitates, because -

“You can’t know it wasn’t me,” he tells them, because he needs to know - “I mean, I was alone while you were at the meeting yesterday. I could have left, rigged the detonations to a hopper clock, and come back -”

Ethos considers that. “You two are sure he hasn’t had any other time to go over there?” Bsubs nods, and he hums. “I don’t think you could have. Unless you can fly - but even then, eight hours to completely undermine the base, and rig a timer, and be back in time for me to catch you on the roof?”

He pauses. “Unless that was why you were on the roof…”

“I was -” Sam hesitates, but - “I was sunning myself. You overflew without noticing me, the first time - I was sleeping in one of the garden plots.”

“Even if the timings would have worked out fine,” Bdubs adds, “there’s a bigger problem with it being him. I went through his inventory. I’d’ve noticed, if he’d had stacks of TNT in it.”

“He could have stolen it from you,” Ethos argues, although there’s none of the heat of conviction behind it.

“Yeah,” Mumbo adds, “But - Bdubs isn’t exactly a redstone guy, you know? And I’ve been through his chests, it’s the whole reason I found out about Sam in the first place - I don’t think he had more than a half-stack of gunpowder -”

“Doc is a redstoner, isn’t he?” Sam adds, almost against his own will. “I could have stolen it from him.”

“Mm.” Ethos looks at him, and there’s - just the flicker of a smile on his lips. “More of a crime-of-opportunity? That’d almost make sense.”

But he leans back, and there’s no accusation in his tone as he continues. “Except I know Doc. He doesn’t keep bulk explosives in his main base, usually, and even if he was, Ren’s bought up so much TNT for his tree farm that I doubt he’d have more than a half-stack.”

“So…”

Sam lets the word hang in the air for a moment, and the three of them look at each other. Look at him -

He’s - pretty sure they believe him. He’s not expecting them to laugh.

“Relax, Sam,” Mumbo tells him, as even Ethos smirks. “We know it wasn’t you. Really.”

It’s such a relief that even he finds himself grinning, and hides it in a sip of soup. But -

“Then…” he trails off the question, but Bdubs picks it up easily enough.

“Well - it must have been Dream, right?”

“I don’t trust him,” Ethos agrees. “He was… quick, to blame you. I mean - not that it would have been unreasonable for him to jump to conclusions, if the stories he’d told us were true, but…”

He waves a hand at Sam, who nods. “What did he try to say?”

“That you had the knowledge, which - obviously.” Ethos pauses. “That you were known for your TNT use, even on his server -”

That’s -

“I wasn’t, though,” Sam offers, not quite managing to hide his confusion. “TNT was always Techno’s thing, or - his, honestly. He’s the one who blew up L’manburg - well, Wilbur finished the job, and Techno spawned the withers, but he’s the one who rigged the TNT duper -”

“He’s an admin,” Bdubs adds. “Could he have spawned the TNT in?”

They contemplate that, for a moment, between themselves - but Ethos and Bdubs both turn to Mumbo, who raises his hands defensively.

“I mean - I’ve never tried to cheat anything in,” he offers, defensively. “Not on Xisuma’s server. I can’t think of anyone trying it on mine, either, but I ran creative anyways, so it’s not like I’d have noticed -”

“Wait,” Sam asks, as what they’re asking sinks in. “You’re an admin?”

And there’s a sudden tension in his chest -

But Mumbo just looks at him, and grins, like it’s nothing at all. “Only sometimes,” he says, easily, and leans back, arms sprawled along the top of the couch. “I - used to run a little experimental server, sometimes, for testing larger redstone builds. Out near Hypixel. I haven’t been out that way in years, though, not since I joined the hermits - I’m sure the borderwilds have completely reclaimed it, by now.”

“That’s how we met,” Ethos adds. “I was visiting with some of my old - let’s call them co-conspirators - and I heard about a rising star -”

“I blew up enough of my server that the crater was visible from Hypixel,” Mumbo tells him. “Ethos and a couple of other redstoners came out to see if anyone needed help, and when I had force-reset enough chunks that we could actually talk to each other rather than just juttering uselessly, he invited me to come back to Hermitcraft with him. Or, well -”

“I saw potential -” Ethos starts, but Mumbo talks over him, grinning.

“- Rezzus basically told him to take me and go before I did any more damage,” he says. “Still, I love it here. And letting Xisuma handle the lag is worth it, even if it means I can’t get quite as inventive as I did on my own land.”

The reminder that the other admin exists sobers any amusement Sam might feel at the anecdote. “Right,” he says, and hesitates. “So - speaking of craters. How bad was the damage?”

They glance at each other, again, and it’s Bdub’s turn to shrug.

“I think - you two have the TNT calculations, but in terms of blockspace… Doc’s castle was maybe three times as big as my tree?” he offers. “I know I’ve intersected his resource strips under my base… Maybe twenty or thirty thousand blocks? It’s basically a hole,” he adds, and Sam goes very, very still, because -

The thought of that scale of destruction… it’s immense. Incomprehensible damage, and they’re just -

“Why - is he okay?” he asks, because even if he doesn’t like the other creeper, even if the burns still ache sometimes, the scale of the damage is quietly horrifying.

“Doc?” Mumbo asks. “Yeah, he’s fine, they all just respawned at worldspawn. Xisuma’s good about stuff like that, he’s not going to lose a player just because he’s respawning -”

“I mean -” and Sam doesn’t know what else to say, so he just waves a hand, hoping that one of them will understand - “his build -”

“Oh,” Ethos says, like he’s realizing. “Yeah, he’s - ah. Very upset.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Bdubs adds. “We take care of each other. Xisuma’s going to roll the chunks back to the last clean version he has - which was like a month ago, but I think most of the exterior was done, and that’s the slow bit - and then we’ll all pitch in to help re-finish the interior, probably. Scar was already planning something out for the meeting room, and I’ll probably get to do some of the terraforming, and - we’ll get it fixed up.”

The easy surety with which he says it is almost more disarming than it is reassuring, because -

“Oh.” Sam pauses, trying to find the words. “We didn’t - we didn’t really do stuff like that, on Dream’s server. He - he definitely wouldn’t have been willing to roll chunks back, for one of us.”

“I mean -” Bdubs cocks his head. “Usually, sure, we’d probably all just pitch in and do it by hand, save him the effort, but - intentional griefing’s a little different, isn’t it?”

Sam doesn’t manage to hold back the snort. “Not to Dream,” he says, and doesn’t miss the way they seem thrown by his easy confidence.

“Oh,” says Mumbo, like that explains everything, and - maybe it does. They sit, in silence, for a minute.

Bdubs is the one to break it, finally, shifting awkwardly from his seat.

“So,” the he says. “This does, uh - mean we have a problem.”

“We do,” Mumbo agrees, sprawled behind Sam. “Dream and Xisuma -”

“They’re close,” Ethos says. “I mean - you’ve both noticed, right? Dream follows him around like a baby chicken -”

“Dream’s trying to manipulate him,” Sam says, because there’s no question in his mind. “He’s - this is what he does. He gets close to people, persuades them to help him, gets his teeth into them -”

And he hesitates, because admitting it aches, but -

“It’s what he did to me,” he says, quietly, and pretends not to notice the pitying look in Bdub’s gaze.

He can’t ignore as easily the way Mumbo reaches out, the warm hand that settles on his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” he says, voice quiet. “He’s not - we won’t let him take you back, alright. This is - more than enough, honestly, we can go to Xisuma and -”

Sam is on his feet, voice tight, before he can think to control the reaction. “No!” He almost chokes on the word, the strain of it, because - “You told me -”

They told him they wouldn’t tell their admin about him, and even as the words settle on his tongue, he realizes how unfair he’s being. He’s - putting them in danger, selfishly, because he knows what kind of hell it will bring down when their admin finds out they’re hiding him -

But it’s Bdubs who raises his hands, as if in surrender. “It’s alright,” he says, unfolding himself from the couch, stepping forwards, and Sam lets himself be pushed back onto his seat. “We - I promised not to tell ‘suma you were here, Sam, I meant that. We’ll just - we have to figure something else out, that’s all -”

Sam doesn’t miss the look that the smaller player is shooting Mumbo, but he’s not in any state to argue, panic tight in his throat.

“I just -” he chokes on the words, but Bdubs coaxes him on, hands warm and gentle. “I - all I want is to leave.”

“I know -”

“Just -” he tries again. “As soon as Xisuma realizes I’m gone, Dream will come after me. He’ll be - gone from your server, and you won’t - Xisuma never needs to know you helped me -”

“Okay,” says a voice, at his shoulder, and Sam can hardly even focus on who’s speaking to him through the fear. “Okay. It’s - you’re okay, Sam, it’s okay, we won’t tell Xisuma -”

“Breath with me.” Ethos’ hand, on his cheek, is an anchor. And that means - that means it’s Mumbo, behind him, and the tearing panic in his chest is like the thundering of hooves -

“In,” Etho murmurs. “Out. One. Two.”

It’s the rattle of air through his mask, the rasping of his breath, that pins him to the earth and holds him, more than the breathing itself. It’s - something, impassive and meaningless but under his control, and he forces down the panic until the breaths become a rhythm that doesn’t feel like it’s going to rip him apart.

He’s not sure when he realizes that he’s crying, exactly. He’s - his whole body feels faintly distant, like it belongs to someone else, but his lungs belong to him, and that’s enough to hold him together as the panic rolls over him, and passes, like a wave dredging back out to sea.

It takes his strength with it. By the time he comes back to himself, his body feels hollow, like he’s been drained away -

But awareness prickles back, regardless. Bdubs, warm and soft and curled against his side. Ethos, in front of him, worried eyes searching his face as he counts, under his breath, with the measured perfection of someone used to tracking ticks. Mumbo’s hands, squeezing his shoulders like a second anchor, like Mumbo could somehow keep him there when Sam hasn’t even tried to flee.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, voice soft. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

And Sam - doesn’t believe it, maybe. He’s not sure if he can.

But it’s a gentle lie, so he doesn’t try to protest when they just - sit there with him, for a while. Or when Mumbo drags him up, half-propped against his shoulder, and helps him walk on unsteady feet back to his room. Or when Bdubs sits with him, soft and quiet, on the edge of the bed, fingers stroking his voices soothingly as he murmurs gentle nothings.

Mumbo and Ethos don’t stay. They go out, slinking just as quietly back into the living room, and -

- he doesn’t hear the blast of rockets, though he hardly has the energy to listen for it. They wouldn’t need them, anyways. They have their comms -

But he doesn’t have the energy to worry about that, either.

He just lays, still and silent, and lets Bdubs’ quiet presence lull him down to sleep.

Chapter Text

“Hey,” Mumbo says, and a fond hand brushes gently through Sam’s leaves, and he lets out a small hiss and drags the blanket up over his head.

The sound is toothless, though - there’s no real threat to it. Mumbo knows that, obviously, because he doesn’t scramble back - his hands stay pressed between the curling vines. For once, he’s not even trying to detangle them - his hand is just there, a bright warm weight against Sam’s side -

A kindness, maybe. A reminder that he’s not done running, yet.

“You don’t have to get up,” Mumbo tells him, voice soft. “If you don’t want to. But there’s food, if you’re ready for it.”

And Sam -

He should get up. Get up, and face the three of them, and his own shame -

He doesn’t want to, though. It’s a petty, childish thing, but he doesn’t want to.

He buries himself a little deeper under the blanket, and Mumbo -

Laughs.

It’s - it doesn’t hurt, though, not like he expects it to. There’s nothing mean about it - just something soft, and fond, and not teasing at all.

“It’s okay,” he says. “We can have a late morning, if you want. No one’s going to mind.”

He doesn’t move, though, and it takes Sam a moment to realize -

To realize that it’s because his vines have shifted to twine around the other redstoner’s fingers. Not tightly - just enough that Mumbo would have to pull to extricate himself.

It’s a whole new source of mortification, even if the other player doesn’t seem to mind -

He isn’t expecting Mumbo to hold him, when he tries to unwind himself.

It’s not a hard grab - he just turns his wrist, catching the vines between his fingers as they try to pull away. Sam could tug them loose, if he tried - but there’s a moment of confusion, where he stills, and Mumbo senses weakness and strikes.

“I’ll stay,” he says, voice gentle. “If you want.”

Sam doesn’t want - he shouldn’t -

But something in his posture betrays him, obviously, because the next thing he knows, Mumbo is petting his vines again, and his body feels boneless.

They sit like that, quiet, for… a while. Sam loses track of how long. He might doze off - he isn’t sure; Mumbo doesn’t seem to mind, either way.

It’s… nice.

Eventually, though, it has to end. Mumbo breaks the stillness between them - shifting, just a hair, on the mattress, even though his touch doesn’t vanish.

“No one thinks less of you,” he offers. “You know that, right?”

They’ve seen him melt down - seen the mess of overwhelmed panic that he’s always fighting to keep at bay. They’ve seen him weak, and - Mumbo is a bad liar, but at least it’s a kind lie.

Sam - doesn’t know what to say to that.

“Lots of us -” Mumbo starts, again, when he says nothing. “All of us, I mean - the hermits - have… things we’re running away from. It isn’t easy. But you - you’ve done so, so well.”

He - yes. He’s done a good job, running -

- running from the problems he helped build, the monster he helped create, the thing he failed to contain and which he has even now unleashed on a server helpless to defend itself -

He laughs into the blankets - or maybe it’s a sob.

Either way, Mumbo hums, softly.

“You made it this far,” he says. “I don’t - I’d never have lasted a week in the borderwilds, not with nothing but the clothes on my back and the gear in my inventory. Not without being able to set up a base, or go mining, or - void, you couldn’t even sleep, could you? Not those first couple weeks.”

Not with Dream so close behind him -

“And you survived Doc,” Mumbo adds, gently. “And Xisuma. You got away, and had the energy left to break into Bdubs’ house, and even when I caught up to you, you were still fighting.”

There wasn’t anything left to do but fight -

“And I think,” Mumbo tells him, like he’s coming up to some kind of thesis, like he has something to tell Sam about himself, “That that’s - you’re incredible, Sam. This?”

His fingers stroke the vines, curling into them to tug, lightly, and run between the leaves. “You aren’t weak,” he says like he knows. “No one - none of us think that. It’s just - it’s okay to need to rest, Sam. It’s okay if you’re not okay.”

It - it isn’t, is the thing. Nothing is ever going to be okay again, and he needs - he needs to adapt, to get past the grief and fear and dread swallowing up his chest, to push through the exhaustion -

He needs to get up.

He doesn’t know -

He doesn’t know what to say, so he shoves himself upright, and Mumbo’s hands are still there and all around him, helping him sag against the edge of the bed for a moment before he claws his way to his feet.

“Let’s -” he starts, and falters, but he’s strong enough, he has to be - “Let’s go eat breakfast.”

And Mumbo smiles, like the sun, and keeps a hand steady on his back as they stride out into the hall.

-----

The table they settle around is new.

It’s - wider, better-suited to the fact that there are now four players to be seated in Bdub’s kitchen. They’ve put in a chair for him, too, apparently - it’s padded, the wool not as cutting against what’s left of his fading bruises as wood might be.

He curls up in it, legs tucked under himself as they bustle around him. He - isn’t expecting it to be Ethos that drags a blanket over him, tucking it carefully around his shoulders as Sam tries to think of something to say.

Fortunately, Bdubs puts a plate of food in front of him before he has to say something, buys him a little time as they all sit around him, and the prickling feeling of being watched doesn’t abate, but he can at least pretend not to notice -

“The compass,” Mumbo says, and it’s such a non-sequitur that he forgets to eat, too. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

“What?” he manages, and his voice sounds awful, wet and rasping. He swallows, mouth too dry to do much good, and takes the bottle of water Bdubs pushes towards him gratefully. “What?”

“We were talking,” Bdubs says, by way of explanation. “I mean - you want to get off the server, right? Which - understandable, I guess, but you can’t do it safely until we do something about the compass, so Dream can’t just run you down.”

“That’s -” true, probably, but - “I’ll make it work,” he tells them. “I mean - I kept ahead of him for months. He won’t catch me - I’ve recovered a lot -”

“You kept ahead of him,” Ethos’ voice is quiet, “when he had just escaped a prison, and was weak from being tortured for months. I don’t think - Sam, he’s had time to heal, now, and you’re the one who’s injured. I don’t think it’s going to play out the same, this time.”

The words sit between them, blunt and unkind, as if Sam didn’t know that -

“I’ll make do,” he tells them. “Every day I’m still here puts you three in more danger. Puts your whole server in danger - there’s a reason that admin are territorial -”

“Xisuma’s strong,” Bdubs protests. “I mean - he’s strong. Dream’s not going to be able to put a scratch on him, if it comes to a fight.”

Mumbo, besides him, looks less certain.

“There’s - a lot of damage an admin can do,” he admits, finally. “Even off of their home server. But! That doesn’t matter - not if we can keep this from ever getting to that point -”

“We get the compass,” Ethos says. “If you want this to end without us talking to Xisuma, that’s - you stay here, safe, until we manage to break the compass, and then we can get you over the server border and on your way to Hypixel scott-free.”

The ultimatum is just as blunt as everything Ethos’ told him, this far, but -

“It’ll be dangerous,” Sam argues. “I mean - if you get caught -”

“If we get caught,” Mumbo says, “Xisuma will protect us. It doesn’t matter how he feels about Dream, he won’t let him hurt one of his players -”

“It’s - not completely safe,” Bdubs admits. “But if you don’t want us to go to Xisuma, this is probably our best option, Sam.”

“We’re all friends,” Ethos adds. “No one is going to think anything about us spending time at Xisuma’s build, or wherever Dream and Doc wind up. Or if we decide to hang around and help out with reconstruction. We’ll have plenty of chances to scout it out, pick the safest moment to strike -”

“And then we get you across the border and gone,” Bdubs says, clapping his hands together. “Ethos dragged out some of his old gear - he’s got a map that’ll get you right to Hypixel, and a couple thousand cred he’s never going to use. You can go, and start a new life somewhere, and -”

“And as long as Xisuma tells him I’m out of the server, Dream will follow me, anyways.” Sam - considers that. “Even without the compass. Or he’ll decide that it’s a lost cause, and head back to the SMP, and -”

And Quackity will just have to be strong enough to deal with that. Him, and Techno, and Philza, and Tommy and Tubbo and all the rest -

But he’s bought them time. Months, to get ready, and at some point, it has to be enough.

“That… could work,” he offers, finally. “But - you have to be careful. I don’t want -”

“Nothing’s going to happen to us,” Mumbo says. “I mean - I promise. Life’s not - it’s not like that, here. Xisuma’s not going to let anything happen to us that he can’t fix.”

“We’ll be careful, though,” Ethos tells him. “No one’s going to take any chances they don’t have to.”

And that’s -

He’s backed into a corner, isn’t he? But they’re offering him - more than he has any right to ask for. They’re not just comming their admin, again, and they’ve been so, so generous -

“Okay,” he says, hating the rasp of his voice. “That - could work.”

And it almost feels like the right answer, after all, when he’s met with two radiant smiles and a languid smirk of satisfaction.

-----

“Really,” Dream says, “I mean - thank you. For letting us stay here, Admin Xisuma -”

“Yeah,” Doc adds, as he drops his inventory on the bed. “Thanks, Xi.”

Xisuma snorts. “It’s the least I can do -” he starts, and Doc cuts him off.

“You didn’t do anything,” he tells the admin, before he can offer some kind of self-recrimination. “I mean it. You aren’t to blame for any of this, Xisuma - nobody except Sam is. Besides, it was just a castle. I’ll rebuild.”

They both know that it wasn’t just a castle, obviously. Doc’s palms ache with the memory of carving stone, with grief over the scope and scene of the destruction -

But Xisuma isn’t the only admin present to blame themselves, and it’s not the time to talk about that. He can tell from the flicker of Xisuma’s gaze that the other admin understands, even as he snorts a laugh.

“Of course,” he adds. “Still - it’s no trouble. You two are welcome for as long as you’d like to stay - maybe tomorrow we can see about getting some guest rooms carved out for you, too, so you have a little more privacy.”

“That’d be good,” Doc agrees. “But, for tonight -”

He gets a fond look from the admin.

“For tonight,” Xisuma says, “You should probably wash up. And eat something, at least, before you turn in -”

And - yeah. He’s covered in stone dust, and redstone, and little bits of clinging ash -

“Probably not a bad idea,” he agrees. “Here - Dream. I can show you where Xi’s bathroom is, if you want to go first -”

The younger admin rubs a hand across his cheek, looking at his grey-stained fingertips before nodding in agreement.

“I probably should,” he agrees. “Prime. I’m a mess.”

“We all are,” Xisuma says. “Doc - I’ll meet the two of you in the kitchen in a half-hour, or so? I’m just going to get changed out of my suit, for now -”

Doc nods agreement, and Xisuma trails out of the room as he turns to Dream.

“He doesn’t usually take proper showers,” he offers, at the younger admin’s curious glance. “Breathing gets - a little tricky, if he has to take the suit off, but he’ll have stayed clean inside it, at least. Meanwhile, you -”

He reaches out to tug on a lock of the admin’s brown hair - “Are looking gray, and I don’t want to think about what Mumbo’s going to say if I haven’t gotten this cleaned up by the time he comes over.”

“Of course.” The little flash of a smile that gets him is the first he’s seen from the other admin all day. Dream - hesitates, for a moment, but - “Do you think we could take the - um - scenic route? I mean - if Xisuma wouldn’t mind -”

“Get a look at his build?” Doc asks. “Sure - he’s not going to care. I bet he’d be happy to show you around the place, in the morning - it’s an incredible project -”

Not that there’s much to see, exactly - not from inside the volcano, anyways. Still, Doc plods along the maze of tunnels, pointing out some of the little architectural bits - the false-windows that lead into buried, subterranean gardens, the potted plants that break up the oppressive omnipresence of stone - until, at last, they’re in the broad, open chamber at the heart of the build.

He feels Dream drop behind him, stilling to a frozen stop as he takes in the scale of the build, and laughs, turning to see the admin’s white mask reflecting the molten orange of the lava pouring from above them.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” he asks. “This is why he’s got a baths, but no guest rooms, by the way. The whole place is run on steam from below - well, and a not-inconsequential amount of redstone, but -”

“He hollowed out an entire mountain?” Dream interjects, sounding vaguely like he’s choking, and Doc can’t help his grin at the misunderstanding.

“Oh, no,” he says, watching Dream relax, just a hair. “He built the mountain.”

And if he can’t keep himself from laughing at the wide-eyed look that Dream gives him, at that -

Well, Dream seems too astonished to mind, much, as they continue their descent into the volcano.

-----

They’re both clean, by the time they haul themselves out of the water and back into their gear.

Dream’s face - his whole body - are red, and Doc isn’t sure if it’s from the heat of the pools or his scrubbing. Maybe both - but the layer of ash is gone, and there’s something brighter in his eyes, so whatever it is must have helped, at least.

Doc - he feels better, too, honestly. The cooler water of the pool he’d chosen has perked him up, a little, and it’s good to be rid of the bits of grit tangled between his vines.

Not that it’s going to stop Mumbo, probably, the next time he sees the other redstoner, but - well, nothing ever is, for long.

It’s as he shakes himself dry that he realizes the problem.

“Oh,” he says, looking at Dream. “You didn’t - I don’t suppose you have anything clean to wear -”

Dream is already halfway into a clean pair of pants. “Um -”

“Or - oh.” Because, obviously, admin. “I don’t suppose you’d mind whipping me something up, too?”

He isn’t expecting the hesitance that flickers across Dream’s face.

“I -” he hesitates, again. “I don’t know. Xisuma -”

“He’s not going to mind,” Doc tells him, with the sort of certainty born from experience. But that’s a thin reassurance, he knows - “I can comm him and check, though, if you want.”

“Sure,” Dream says, with a relieved huff, and Doc smiles at him for a moment before turning his gaze down to his comms.

[DocM77] >whisper<: Hey Xi

[DocM77] >whisper<: I need pants

[DocM77] >whisper<: Do you mind if Dream admins me up a pair, or

It only takes a second for the response to flicker back.

[Xisumavoid] >whisper<: can he?

[Xisumavoid] >whisper<: i didnt think he’d have the power for that

[Xisumavoid] >whisper<: if its not going to strain him sure

[Xisumavoid] >whisper<: hed need your playerdata though

And that’s -

Doc glances sideways, at the other admin, for a moment. Dream is distracted, tugging a shirt over his head, and - it shouldn’t feel like a big deal, or an imposition, but -

[Xisumavoid] >whisper<: i can drop something off if youd rather not

[DocM77] >whisper<: Yeah

[DocM77] >whisper<: Thanks, Xi

“Xi’s going to drop something off for me,” he says, as Dream manages to get the shirt on, and the younger admin nods. “Not that he’d’ve minded, it’s just - no point in tiring yourself out.”

Dream nods acceptance, and Doc smiles back at him, and it feels like - it feels like everything’s going to work out.

-----

Dinner is a subdued affair. Even with the showers, and Xisuma changed into a clean suit, it’s easy to tell that the day is wearing on them.

Still, it’s not enough to kill all of the chatter at the table. There are still things to go over - projects being planned across the server, redstone to revise, meetings to plan -

“We’ll have one -” Xisuma starts, and Dream’s eyes shoot to him - “Tomorrow, I think. Later in the day, once everyone’s had a chance to get some rest - Cleo’s already been messaging me about it.”

“False had mentioned,” Doc tells him, and laughs. “I think they’re going to be out in the woods tonight. Might not even need the meeting.”

Dream looks - surprised, by that. “That’s -” He seems to hesitate, searching for the words.

“Dangerous, isn’t it?” he finally decides on, and Xisuma laughs.

“Only for Sam,” he says. “Cleo and False can take care of themselves. Besides - if he kills them, I’ll know where to find him. It’ll be the last thing he does on this server.”

There’s a surety to the way he says it that Dream doesn’t seem to find half as soothing as Doc does. He shifts, uneasily, but -

“I - really do appreciate it,” he says after another moment. “Not just - not just you helping me find him. It’s - been a long time, since I’ve been around people who don’t -”

He trails off, but Doc doesn’t miss the way his fingers curl around the scars on his arm, thumb rubbing across them as he stares down at the table. He reaches out, almost reflexively, and lays a hand on the younger admin’s shoulder -

“You deserve it,” he says, because it seems to be what Dream needs to hear. “You - shouldn’t have to deal with all of this alone. We’ll catch him, and you can go back to your server and get your life in order -”

Dream nods, at that, and his eyes flick up to Doc, gaze unreadable. Doc doesn’t miss the flicker of a smile on his lips, though, or what might be relief -

“Eat,” Xisuma interjects. “Both of you - then go get some rest. We’ve all had a long day.”

“Yeah,” Dream murmurs agreement, as Sam takes a pointedly large spoonful of his soup, and they finish the meal in an easy, companionable silence.

-----

They settle into their beds in that same quiet. Or - at least, it starts that way.

Doc - he’s not tired. There’s something physical to the exhaustion that’s overtaken him - his mind is sharp, wakeful, but his body has an all-over ache to it that isn’t quite pain.

Still, he’s halfway to sleep by the time he hears Dream shifting, restlessly, beside him.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks, and Dream goes painstakingly still.

“Sorry,” he says, after a moment. “I - yeah. I just -”

“Blew up, last time you went to bed?” Doc asks, and it’s enough to earn a little hoarse laugh from Dream.

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess you could say that.”

“Fair enough,” Doc tells him. “Try to relax, though. This is Xisuma’s base. Probably the safest place on the server, even if Sam was willing to go through all the trouble of getting over here -”

That gets a long, slow exhale from Dream.

“I know,” he says, finally. “I’m just - stressed, I guess. I mean - we’re safe, yeah, but there are so many other people on the server - anyone could stumble into him -”

“Xisuma’s got his comms on alert,” Doc assures him. “If anyone dies, he’ll know right away. And even if they don’t, everyone knows to message him right away if they find Sam.”

“Yeah,” Dream agrees, again, but it’s quiet. Subdued.

“Have you thought about - I don’t know. What you want to do when you get back to your server?” Doc asks, and that’s enough to make him sit up, propped up on his arm.

“We have the prison,” Dream tells him. “I mean - I’ll need to look through it, see if anything was damaged when I escaped, but - it’ll be easier to keep him there, with admin commands to maintain things.”

Which - sounds good, but -

“I meant for yourself,” Doc tells him. “I mean - you’ve been out in the wilds for a while. Have you had any ideas for - I don’t know. Builds? Farms? Maybe a new game or two? Something for yourself, when you get back.”

Dream is very, very still.

“I -” he starts, after a moment - “haven’t really thought about it, honestly.”

That thought shouldn’t feel as alien to Doc as it does, but - “Oh.”

“I’m not much of a builder,” Dream admits, after another breath. “I - play a lot of parkour, like I said. Or - I used to. Being an admin turned out to be - kind of a full-time job.”

He laughs, the sound bitter, and Doc shifts to look at him.

“Xi gets the same way, sometimes,” he tells the younger admin. “I mean - caught up in it. He used to work himself to the point of exhaustion - especially when we were getting ready to move the server.”

He doesn’t miss the flicker of interest in Dream’s eyes. “Oh?” he says, voice deliberately casual, and Doc grins as the bait is taken.

“It wasn’t healthy,” he says, like it’s a fact. “Not for him - not for any of us, really. He was isolating himself, cutting us off - he wasn’t even taking the time for his own builds, and he’s a fantastic designer. “

He doesn’t bother to grind the lesson home - Dream glances away, and Doc can tell he’s made his point.

“You’ll get back to your server,” he says. “Get everything back in order with your players, and then - I don’t know. Find some time for yourself somewhere, Dream. Don’t let this thing with Sam eat you alive.”

Dream’s throat works, and the “yeah.” is almost silent. “I just - I need this to be done.”

“We’ll find him,” Doc says, again, as if repetition can make Dream believe it. “Blowing up my base - that was a mistake. Everyone on the server is out for blood, now.”

That gets a little relieved grin from Dream. “He - I’m so sorry about your base, Doc -”

“It’s alright,” he says. “We’ll find him, and…”

And - maybe he should be more hesitant about this, but Dream’s eyes are glittering, green and hungry at him, in the dark -

“Maybe you deserve to get a couple of swings in,” Doc tells him, trying to press the hunger out of his voice. “Maybe I want a few, too. At least you’ll be able to get those in, before you have to drag him all the way back to your server.”

Dream is silent, for a moment.

“I didn’t think -” he starts, as if trying to figure out how to frame what he’s about to say - “I mean - if we kill him, he’ll still respawn -”

“Of course,” Doc tells him - but maybe to an admin who can’t give his players their lives back, over and over, it isn’t so obvious. “Don’t worry. Xisuma’s not going to mind the strain of an extra respawn or two, if it happens.”

And Doc is counting on that. Counting on Sam running, because he’s not quite so angry that he’d hurt a helpless captive, but until they’ve caught him -

Some of the ugliness in his chest must show on his face - but Dream doesn’t look scared. There’s an unflinching steadiness to his gaze - something cold and tired and starving - but it isn’t fear, anymore.

“We’ll find him,” Dream says, echoing the words like a promise. “And I’ll - I’ll take him home -”

“See?” Doc asks. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“Yeah,” Dream agrees, and slumps back, finally, against the mattress. Doc mirrors the motion, but it’s not to sleep, not yet -

Not until the younger admin’s breathing has steadied, soft and even, and slowed, inch by inch, does Doc follow him down.